We walk down the street. “5” he says. “hmm”, I ask? “5. That’s how many people I’ve seen in the window in my life”.
We continue walking. I look up, noticing the figure in the window. He’s running background jobs, I think. Background jobs - it echoes - pulling thoughts like soft fabric brushing against dust. Figments of memory flip like crisp pages in a book falling into place. He’s not clueless, just oriented elsewhere! And that place is interesting. I want to go there too!
We continue. I swivel my head like a gyroscope running low on spin, side to side. I look up, noticing the shadows behind panes.