I was stumbling down the sidewalk in Lower Queen Anne. You passed me and asked, "Money for a diabetic for bus fare?" When I mumbled "No," you screamed at me, "I hope your baby dies!" My baby, who I hugged when I got home, is not dying. My dad, however, is being destroyed by brain cancer. Today, the doctors recommended halting his treatment and letting him go naturally. They gave us six months, tops—which is why I was numb when our paths crossed. So, lady, I guess you got me good. I would hope, in return, you are able to understand that everyone you meet is battling pain in their own way, and if you curse every last one who can't help you with a personal nightmare, eventually you'll get that wish. Congratulations and sleep well.