Where: A packed Q-train.
Who was reading: A woman in her 30s with messy brown hair tucked under a striped cap. Her long puffy coat resembled a sleeping bag.
She finished the book as we emerged from darkness . . . to cross the Manhattan Bridge. Composing this post in my head, I thought I had it all figured out: she would complete the last page, then lower the book to gaze contemplatively out over the water, allowing the stirring final words to slowly sink in.
But thwarting all expectations! she instead flipped back to the beginning of the book, scanned the review quotes, and started in again on page one. That is dedication.
Confession: I read the entire last page over her shoulder, then gazed contemplatively out over the water as those stirring final words slowly sunk in. It gave me goose-bumps.