“You’re original!” she said As she kicked a stone across the path We didn’t look up We barely looked down It was late to be out in the town I knew we were different But some small connection had been made I wanted to acknowledge it Before the moment passed But the pressure Of silence “Show me your hand!” I held out my hand I had nothing to hide She looked at my palm, smiled And ran away I looked at my palm My foot lent on its side Beside an old railway arch Alone, familiar, but comforted