For B____, who noticed everything.

Some days I forget to notice all the little things. It will be cold or rainy or I'll be unhappy or both and I'll go outside and I just don't notice. But I'm working on it.

Sometimes it's not important. A scrap of paper or a notebook lying on the ground, or a wrench or something else out of place. Just some object that has a story I'll never get to know, and one I'll get to tell anyone that asks: "I found that on the street just today, actually." And other times it's something that really does matter: a boy carrying his girl down the street, laughing with each other. Two girls dancing in their corner booth at the bar, like there's no one else there. Or something less cheerful--a girl who's too drunk to get off the subway and whose boyfriend won't help her, those little quiet arguments in the street.

And every time I miss something like that it's like I'm missing out on the way the world actually is, and just living in the strange little fiction that we're all alone and that streets are there for walking and there's nothing else to see.

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