I see her from the side, and never notice her face. I drive alone through crowded streets, glancing at the drivers who share my stoplight and then glancing quickly away when they see me looking. So they keep their eyes forward, like mine. Hands in pockets. Hands in fists.
Hands holding keys spread between the fingers, ready to attack, to strike, scratch, maim.
We learn early not to make eye contact with strangers, not to smile, not to greet. We are taught to mind our business, to be sure strangers mind theirs. We are taught not to invite, not to suggest, not to give a wrong impression. This is minding our manners. Don't sit so close, we are told, and tell in turn.