Movement was busy at the bus stop. People waited restlessly while on errands for home or work, everyone’s clothing in varieties of downtown sameness. One face materialized, more significant than all the others. Pale and unhealthy, it was all angles and hard surfaces. I couldn’t see his eyes but remembered hard blue eyes flickering downwards when he began to speak. His hair was crew cut short with no particular style or colour. Wearing non-descript clothes, a winter jacket hung loosely open from his sparse frame. Dark jeans folded down his long legs to dark worn sneakers. In animated conversation with a longhaired young woman, he stood taller than her. She leaned back against a restaurant front. I did not sense anything more than casual, interested conversation from the forty-something man. His presentation to her would probably be polite, kind and genuine sounding. He glanced up. Seconds long eye contact with me. I walked quickly past.
“One of the most wonderful things in nature is a glance of the eye;
it transcends speech; it is the bodily symbol of identity”
~ Ralph Waldo Emerson
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