He stepped up and took the last free stool at the large rectangular bar near the E Gates at Pearson. He was blond and full-bodied in his striped shirt and summer jacket. The waiter was attentive and the young man announced with assurance and an accent that he would like a big beer, and around the bar traces of smiles crossed eyes and lips. As a student of a second language my heart stirred a little. I have been there –– suffered the humiliation of being grammatically correct but making the crowd cringe. On that day the crowd happened to be kind and appeared pleased when the tall frosted glass of beer was placed on the bar in front of the young traveller, for he was a good traveller and not many are. He knew how to claim the last seat at the bar, and with open-faced confidence, place his order. One felt he would fare well in life, flushed as he was from that sprint between terminals, now near his gate with his home city posted in lights, his flight on time. He took a long draft of cold beer and his shoulders settled. And it seemed that all shoulders around the bar settled. Something in the moment depended upon his being there in his striped shirt and summer jacket, navigating the transfer on this hot Toronto day, slipping onto the last free barstool, ordering a big beer.