The sky was drizzling gently—like a gentle drizzle of rain—as people walked past, umbrellas open, eyes downcast. But no one noticed the woman in the beige suit who sank to her knees in the middle of the intersection. Her voice trembled. “Please… marry me,” she whispered, clutching the velvet box. The man she was proposing to? He hadn’t shaved in weeks, wore a coat patched with duct tape, and slept in an alley just a block from Wall Street.
Two weeks ago
