“Do you need help?” I asked.

He shifted his weight from one leg to the other. “I’m going to go jump off the Burnside Bridge,” he said.

Every cell of my body lit up, but something in my head told me to play it calm.

“Why are you going to do that?” I asked. About 15 feet in front of me, three cashiers worked a small but steady line of happy book buyers. I leaned in a little, trying to create a private space between us. He was wearing a T-shirt and no coat, not enough clothes for the chilly fall day. He smelled toxic. But I could tell he was handsome. I could picture him in a cheap and earnest suit.

“Nobody needs me,” he said.

“Who’s nobody?” I asked. But then I wondered if that sounded insensitive.

“She won’t let me see my daughter,” he said.

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