A Walk Through the Arcade

I once read a story (the title and author of which I have long forgotten) that somehow remained a part of my memory. I often think of it, especially when I walk through the arcade from Building Three towards Building One.
It was a letter from a boy of 23 who was walking towards the Brooklyn Bridge, and it was found on a walkway. The young man said that if, on his long walk from Bensonhurst to the bridge, just one person smiled at him, or at least acknowledged his existence, no one would ever read the letter. For then, he would not throw himself into the bleak, dark river and he would tear the paper into shreds and go on with his life. The policeman who read the letter wept.
How much effort is it, on your walk through the arcade, to lift your eyes off the floor or turn it from the wall to acknowledge the person coming towards you? A nod would do, a smile would be better and, best of all, a “Good morning” or “Nice day, isn’t it.” Someone, some lonely person’s life, might be a little bit brighter for that minimum effort. And, what a difference, in all our lives, if the arcade was illuminated by your smiles.
Arlene Schreiber
Building Three