In this house, where being kind is cruel, the halls remain empty. On the street, where being curtly kind is expected, our glances trace the cracks in the pavement silently until someone signals: 'hello'. It is sudden, sad, and for all the nothingness of history, it seems nonetheless to conjure two versions of an at best imagined story. An inhumane shyness shines from eyes, still, and I fear the day it strikes out.