His green eyes flashed at me in passing, it could have been a mirror or perhaps a revolving door - but as the flood of first years pushed through the sticky plastic stairway to tutorial I had no opportunity for a second take. The topic had been Descartes and his rather imprudent treatment of his cat. The astonishingly boring French philosopher had pitched his feline companion against a wall under the pretense that it was not an intelligent being such as himself and could therefore be deemed “dumb matter”. I hesitated to join the discussion and then balked at the prospect of being shot down by my seeming omnipotent professor. There was a certain violence involved in making your voice heard. I thought back to the face in the crowd from earlier. There was something there, I don’t think I’d met him before but couldn’t shake the feeling that I needed to speak with him. During the brief recess given halfway through tutorial I stalked out to the washroom to be alone with my thought, it was always so awkward pretending I was a part of one of the class subgroups I never knew which to choose really. And should I switch between groups or stick with one in the hope of gradual integration? It seemed if something was going to happen it would have by now. That’s how I am with people, there is either a presence or an absence - though I don’t think I’d ever considered throwing one of my peers against a wall, I did feel like there was one.

My eyes were a dim grey-green today, they seemed to change with the season but this huge seemed particularly dull. Rinsing my hands in the sink followed by my face I contemplated whether or not there would be a line for coffee. I didn’t mind the recess lineup actually, I felt more myself in crowds. There was no concern about being alone or about deciding what to say or where to look, it was all determined by the undifferentiated bumbling of the mass. When things were busy at the cafe there was no space for pauses of empty space or “small talk”, the baristas dashed around to perform the orders like a well oiled machine. Pushing open the heavy basement doors to the cafe, laden with old hunks of painted iron, I saw a sparsely distributed trio hanging off the display case barrier. I sighed and began to turn around when I saw him in the back corner - He smiled and I decided to move towards him for some reason. He shifted his body as I approached him in a manner that suggested intimacy. I reached out to shake his hand under some false pretense that we had already met. He clasped my hand firmly, but pulled me gently towards himself in an over the shoulder one armed hug. I shakily reciprocated the gesture in calm disbelief.

“I’ve been meaning to see you...” he seemed to whisper