CarrollBlog 6.2

In the subway station the old nun is sitting by herself on a bench. She's smiling like a sunbeam and it's hard not to smile too once you see her. When she sees me looking, she gestures me over with a quick urgent wave of her hand. I walk nearer and she points to what she's holding on her lap. At first I can't make out what's there other than a large wicker basket-- the kind you take to market-- covered with a cloth. But what's beneath the cloth is what she wants me to see. She pulls it back and