When the meager purchases had been placed into a plastic bag， something remarkable happened. Not a word had been spoken by her elderly friend， an old， tired hand slowly extended over the counter. The hand trembled， and then steadied. Roberta spread the plastic handles on the bag and gently slipped them over his wrist. The fingers that dangled into space were gnarled and spotted with the marks of age.
Roberta smiled larger.
She scooped up the other tired， old hand and in an instant， she was holding them both， gathered in front of her brown face. She warmed them. Top and bottom. Then sides. She reached and pulled the scarf that had flown nearly off his broad but stooped shoulders. She pulled it close around his neck. Still he said not a single word. He stood as if to cement the moment in his memory. It would have to last at least until the morrow. When he would once again shuffle through the cold， Roberta buttoned a button that had eluded the manipulation of the old hands. She looked him in the eyes and， with a slender finger， mockingly scolded him. “Now， Mr. Johnson. I want you to be very， careful.” She then paused ever so lightly for emphasis and added sincerely， “I need to see you in here tomorrow.”
With those last words ringing in his ears， the old man had his orders. He hesitated， and then turned， and one tired foot shuffling barely in front of the other， he moved slowly into the bitter Denver morning. I realized then that he had not come in search of a banana and a muffin. He had come in to get warm in his heart.
丹佛一个非常寒冷的早上。这样的天气，人们应该整天都呆在家里，应该是感冒了在家里休息，等妈妈端来一杯热汤，这天就应该这样度过。
而我得去丹佛大会中心给几百人作演讲，他们和我一样没感冒，不可能呆在家里等妈妈端来热汤，而是聚在大会中心，对于这寒冷的天气也只能是谈论一下而已。