Rosa opened the cart at five-thirty every weekday morning. She arrived earlier to unlock its storage compartment, check the small warmer, and arrange the pastries she had baked at home. Her old umbrella had been repaired with two different kinds of tape. When the wind rose, she tied it to the cart handle with string.
She did not speak of herself as a person doing something remarkable. She knew the people who passed her corner. A school custodian bought two rolls at six. A nurse from the overnight shift came through at six-fifteen if traffic was light. Parents appeared with children closer to eight, many of them hurried and distracted. The children who came alone often passed earlier, before the sidewalk became crowded.
Continue on the next page:
