If we broke this building and its inhabitants down to materials and stripped the soul, we'd be a pile of paint, ink, metal, cloth, beer, brick. But that isn't quite the case, the thinking feeling breathing screaming is thick, I learn slowly what makes some people tick.
Yeah, its only a few words between drags yawns laughs, but its the little things. A "be right back" lets me rest assured that this bumping into was personal, intentional.
On the other hand theres cues to give when it isn't. Canadian army punks get my cold shoulder, and "yeah" and "cool" alternating head nods.
An old friend with a Modest Mouse tattoo receives my thankful excitement, the 'catch-up' spiel, the 'hey do you still live wherever you used to live...'
And most familiar faces sometimes with names but never even acquaintances get my wonder stares, my shy tastes.
those little things that we do
they mean everything.
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