McDonald’s, 7 a.m.

In Charleston, West Virginia, our Red Roof Inn charged $20 less than the nearby Super 8, but did not provide breakfast.

So we stop at McDonalds, order oatmeal, yogurt, and orange juice

We’re waiting for our order when a morbidly obese man waddles in. The wind has blown his shirt above his belly, exposing an eight-inch triangle of flesh. as he tugs it back in place, I watch.

Then, remembering how I noticed people notice me on the streets of Chinandega, I look at the floor instead.

He gets in the order line, pauses, and then turns and approaches me.

I gulp.

He did notice! I’ve been outed—my judgmental ego exposed in McDonalds while waiting for oatmeal. I have no choice, though. I raise my eyes to meet his.

“Excuse me, ma’am,” he says. “Your shoelace is undone—I wouldn’t want you to trip on it.”