Walking in a Hamtramck alley yesterday, we crossed paths with a woman carrying crutches but not using them. She asked, “Making pictures?”
“Do you work for the historical society?”
As we were leaving the historic Jewish cemetery we visited today, he pointed out the water pump.
“Oh, you wash your hands when you leave,” I explained, “so death doesn’t follow you home.”
“Do you want to?”
“I’m pretty sure it’s broken. It didn’t work last time.”
So he got his water bottle out and we washed our hands there in the parking lot.