Her back hurts dreadfully, coming down the steps in the rain; Eddie the Pharmacist is standing there, with another umbrella, grinning until she begs off with a huge smile. "Brought you something for your back," he says. He hands her a Dr Pepper and she smiles, confused. He pulls something else out of his pocket; it seems to take forever, as the pain arcs through her back like lightning. It's a Moon Pie. Worthless. She smiles ever faker, impressed, and grins. "I was thinking more along the lines of Vicodin..." He hands her a blister pack. "I'm not an idiot." She smiles and says she loves him.

I don't think she's lying, I just think it's a very small word that doesn't actually mean anything by itself. It's a container that means what you put in it. We love each other for a million reasons. Elenor loves her because she's smart, and mean, and because she's always available for lunch. She's useful, and dedicated. Zoey loves her because they are both shithouse crazy, and because they represent each other's pasts and futures. Mo-Mo loves her because she's naughty, like him. Starting today, Coop loves her because she knows how worthless he is and still gives him the time of day. And Eddie loves her because she is remarkable.

And because when she says she loves him, there's nothing but affection in her eyes. The people with the greatest capacity for good are the ones with the greatest capacity for evil. But Augustine also said, "Do you wish to be great? Then begin by being. Do you desire to construct a vast and lofty fabric? Think first about the foundations of humility. The higher your structure is to be, the deeper must be its foundation." There's nothing stronger or more beautiful than giving the work of your hands to your people. Until it breaks you, if that's how it's going to go down. Whether or not you believe in God -- and I firmly do not -- every foot you wash, every pain in that woman's back, is a sacrament to something bigger than she is. There's not a saint or tzadik that ever asked for it; they were too busy saving the world.

Then it's later and it's not raining anymore; she stops at a crosswalk next to a bike messenger. "Be careful," she says, checking out his rig, and without missing a beat he says, "Fuck you." Her eyebrows go up, up, and before she notices she's done it, almost, she's stabbed a hole in his front tire. Good girl.