I don't know why I took his arm. His stride was twice mine, even with my long legs. He didn't offer it, I took it like a thief. It blared like a siren, my white skin against his black coat, black pants black glove, black heartache, but I wouldn't let go. All I could think of was the little boy at the side of his mothers casket, never held, never claimed and at least for the next hour, I would never let go.