It was another Covid lockdown in the spring of 2021. Students were sent back home for remote school. Businesses were closed. The entire neighbourhood, which was bustling on normal days, took on features of a ghost town again.

One afternoon, it was drizzling. Facial mask on, I managed to sneak out of the residential compound through a side door in the basement, where cars were parked. No guards were there to stop me.

Once outside, I ambled down the lane amidst the light rain. The wet weather had brought down the temperature considerably. There was not another fellow human on the pavement. All the shops and restaurants had their doors dead shut. Only a pharmacy stayed open with few souls in. The ambience overwhelmed me so much that I let loose a heavy sigh.

Turning off the lane, I let my feet drag me into a small alley. No traffic on the road still, I felt even more depressed. The alley was flanked by shanties, where some small businesses were run. Some processed and sold noodles, a local staple. Some offered breakfast takeaways. Some laundered clothes. They were all closed at the time, though.

As I was trudging up the alley under my umbrella, I looked down and found the first button on my felt coat going errant. It threatened to come off and be gone any moment. Once lost, it could not be replaced with one that matched well.

To my joy, one shanty ahead was up and running. The sign showed that it was a drycleaner. I hastened to it.

It was a tiny business. Behind the one counter stood a demure woman, whose eyes were sparkling above a super big facial mask. There were few articles of clothing on the racks behind her. The very person was oozing worry in the doom and gloom.

My entry startled her. I looked about the place.

“How can I help you, sir?” she asked from behind the mask.

“One of my coat buttons is coming loose. Please get it stitched,” I replied, taking off the garment and handing it over.

Expertly, she took out a sewing kit, and with finesse the problem button was being resewn.

While her fingers were nimbly manipulating a needle and thread, I stood by waiting.

It was done in less than three minutes. I took over the coat and put it on. I ran my thumb over the button. It was firm and in place.

“Thank you very much. How much is it?”

“It’s free, sir,” answered the petite lady. “No big deal.”

I whipped out my wallet. Luckily, there were two one-yuan coins in it. Gently laying them on the counter, I expressed appreciation aloud before I exited the miniature shop.

It still sprinkling, no traffic was in the silent dark narrow street, but my mood was way better than before I had stepped into the shop, all thanks to a modicum of real human contact.