A woman and two young children eat bagels. The boy, probably about 3, stares at me. Can he feel my envy of his mother, who hands him torn pieces of soft bagel, who opens the water bottle so he can sip, then draws him onto her lap?

The little girl’s still in diapers. As the small family leaves, the girl also stares at me as she walks—and she is barely able to walk—until she bumps into her mother’s leg. Her mother has paused at the trashcan to dispose of their remnants.

‘Wait,’ I want to say. ‘I need some of what you have. Let me taste.’ I know there’s more in the bag. But she’s already gone; they’re pushing through the door now, a flock, a pride, a school, a murder of crows.