Trying your best to Express disinterest, your face betrays your motives--those glasses may reflect my momentary gaze, but they more clearly reflect a waning commitment to solitude. It's more difficult to ignore, to pretend that the lives around you are less interesting than another Toy Story review, than to admit "defeat" and say, "Good morning."
Your eyes, anchored in ink, splash across potential conversations, returning from each micro-escape to the AP's latest nuance of the oil spill and the reality of filtered reality. "How did you break your foot?" "Where did you get that tie?" "Who are you listening to?" "How long have you played the trombone?" "What do you enjoy most about DC?" "Is that a Skagen watch?" "Have you heard the latest about BP?" Ad finitum. Or at least until Metro Center.
Make it explicit, that desire for benevolence, and I will prove you right. Discard what you've been taught about the nature of man, and I will show you true friendship. Ask the universe about the just and the beautiful, and I, as one embodiment, will answer, "They exist."