He cuts a path for himself through the crowd by alarming people, shoving his face into their faces and talking loudly to himself, as if they aren't real outside of his mind.
So much of conversation is aimed at establishing and defending one's status, saying what we think is important to other people and what will help us play the role we've assumed in our social circle. In the meantime, other thoughts fight to get out and are smothered in self-censorship.
The dark river wears glitter on its face.
So much of what happens between these bookshelves is an exercise in getting by with a bare minimum of effort and time.
Although I don't know it at the time, he's testing me. His reserved and polite demeanor masks his watchfulness; he notes my mannerisms, gets a rough idea of my temperament. I don't think he's doing this consciously. But he'll use his discoveries to his own advantage next time we meet.
Fireworks in the shape of dumbbells, weeping willows, and badminton birdies.
He talks about how we need to put the broken pieces of ourselves back together.