THE OBSERVER

The masses can wear you out. Years of King County Metro warmed me up so there aren’t any surprises. Drunks passed out on Trains. Homeless people setting up camp on trains. Unstable Vietnam vets have moments of insanity and near violence on trains. The invisible message that says, "don’t invade my space and we’ll get alone fine. Space is at a premium.

As everyone in NYC is almost constantly participating in the graceful ballet of maneuvers to make space for one another, there exists is this phalanx of motion these precious transcending moments of acknowledgment. People let their guard down and let you into their eyes. It’s cruising, flirting, observing. People aren’t afraid to look. You have to. People take eye contact as a challenge, but it’s not always a threat to have someone look at you, even if it’s a test for submission or attraction, I don’t worry about getting yelled at for making eye contact. A smile cures almost everything. It could also invite something you don’t want. It’s a careful balance. I understand these methods. I don’t always look, but I try.

I’m getting some very good eye contact. It’s sexy. It feels vital. In Seattle there’s this thing I like to call the “Please Don’t Look At Me Syndrome.” It’s like shame for existing. You look at someone and meeting your gaze they immediately scan the ground, a store window, dog shit to avoid, anything but look you back. Seattle’s big plan for density forgets the unavoidable reality that density means other people. More people. Less space, more contact. More eye contact.

The unavoidable necessity in a crowded atmosphere is that for people to coexist peacefully and civilly is that it requires acknowledging other people actually exist. So any solipsistic “I Make My Own Reality” nonsense gets awfully hard if people are showing up for the party and you’re not opening the door. They wont’ go away. They won’t go away even when you get home and lock your door. They come through the windows, all night long. Even in a quiet neighborhood it’s like a hostel.