There are angels in the city—and we walk among them, unknowing. Last night, I came face-to-face with the pavement. Literally. It was dark and rainy, I was on my bike heading toward home after an evening meeting. Just past the I-90 lid, something happened—I'll never know exactly what—but next thing I know, I'm at the side of the road wiping blood off my face and feeling like I am in someone else's body. Two men are looking at me with concern, asking me if I'm okay, where I live, do I need an ambulance, and who knows what else. I must not have been making much sense, but at least I could answer my name and nod when they offered me a ride home. They didn't panic and call 911, abandoning me to the medics, which would have traumatized me even more, worrying about the hospital bills to come. They picked up my broken bike lights and put them in my pocket. They put my bike in the back of their truck and delivered me to my door safely. This should not be extraordinary, but it is, and I wish I had a way of thanking them. So this is for those two guys and others like them. Tell them I'm okay. Tell them I had a concussion and my face looks like I lost badly in a bar fight, but I'm alive and recovering. Tell them I feel so lucky that they came along when they did. Tell them our city needs more kindness between strangers.

—Anonymous