This

I looked up to smile at him. He didn't even shift. He had a beautiful face, and a piercing in his upper ear lobe. I wondered what circumstances forced him. I wanted to write a story about him, one that would explore all the intricacies of the overlooked, the invisibles. It was a moment of cliche at its apex. But that doesn't delegitimize my perception. There is a reason why similar stories or phrases are constantly repeated. They have unshakable and constant meaning and presence.

He left at some point and I didn't even notice. I was too busy jotting down my ideas which sound like a voice-over in a film based on a true story, or maybe a boring novel. I sit using this connection to the whole world, when I wonder how connected to the world he is, or whichever world he wishes to be a part of. I have the lower hand in that my fingers type at the height of the keyboard on the desk, while his hands push the top of the broom to sweep the dirt we left behind.