I am walking my dog through the park in Dresden. The winding paths become crowded on both sides by rows of tiny picturesque houses, packed tightly together. Each has their own color, small ornate gates, beautiful architecture. I am walking up a hill trying to find an exit, only to find a dead end. I turn and am facing an older man on a bicycle – he seems to know I am lost and helps me right away. We walk together down through the winding cobblestone streets, turning multiple times until we have exited the tiny house labyrinth. I am now standing at a bus stop with him – it’s a beautiful sunny day. We have been chatting the entire time and he almost feels like a friend at this point. There at the bus stop he introduces me to a woman and a girl, who he says are his family. His wife has beautiful eyes and a wide honest face – she seems shy and I realize she is wearing a muslim headscarf. I had put out my hand to shake hers and I retract it a little, apologizing (I’m not sure if I am “allowed” to touch her, given her religion). She smiles and says that is not what they do, but she does put out her hand face down toward me, fingers limp. I gently take her hand and kiss it, which seems like the right thing to do.