I am the kind of girl who could focus only on one thing at a time. I’ve always thought of it as a disability. But then we have these conversations in between my odd giggles with all these passers-by around us and all I could see is the speech bubble in between our breaths, the lines at the sides of your face waiting to tell stories I want to hear, these hanging threads at the end of my coat brushing against yours, the way our smiles meet, the way nothing else matters. There are probably commuters running late on our right, families racing with their supermarket trolleys on our left, or not. I really don’t know, I can’t focus. And I’m glad.