It was the Sunday before Easter in Salt Lake City. I was nearing the end of a hectic brunch shift at Pig and a Jelly Jar when I met my first trail angel.
She was sitting alone at the bar gazing out the window at Sunday’s busy sidewalks while finishing her biscuits and gravy. She looked both lonely and content. I don’t normally interact with tables that aren’t my own unless they try to flag me down but I had a strange impulse to approach this woman. ...
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