cake. Adults traded stories. People took pictures with Mr. Walter beside the bus as if he were the mayor of some kinder version of the world.
When the air got colder, someone draped a blanket over his shoulders.
He still had the rabbit tucked carefully under one arm.
As we were leaving, Ben asked if Mr. Walter would remember his birthday again next year.
I told him yes.
Then he asked, “Who’s going to remember Mr. Walter’s?”
I smiled and looked back at the crowd still gathered around that old
