Y/n walked down the street, walking stick swaying a slow arc in front of her. The rhythm of the block hummed around her — a deli register ringing, a dog barking three floors up, the perfume-counter cloud drifting off the woman who had just passed.

Then she came to a spot where the crowd jostled, and her stick knocked against something solid, or rather someone. He was mid-mumble, and the two of them collided.