Americans are stuck in a vacuum of privacy and personal space. Along every street, in cafes and shops. So many forms of hello and goodbye. Sibilant, slurred, in men's and women's voices, in children's mumbles and grandmotherly burrs, in the country accents of old uncles.
Women arm in arm, men arm in arm.
Holding hands, stroking arms, brushing cheeks, touching shoulders. In cheerful recognition, in quiet affection, in tenderness, in ritual. Cousins wrapped together in conversation, brothers in silent comfort, sisters in whispered relief. One person comes into a room, and the eight people already there half-rise from their chairs in greeting, hold up their hands to be briefly touched, smile. Say hello, say his name.