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All these people have a story. The old man sitting in the coffee shop drinking his coffee. How did he get here? Is age something that just hits you? War, marriage, children, and all of a sudden does one just wake to find oneself in a coffee shop surrounded by strangers? They are all so known. Relatively strangers though, the girl going up the escalator to meet two friends working at a coffee shop, previous employee? Possibly. The mindless chatter in the afternoon hour, "yes, mum/mom is fine, I've been busy, etc." There was a man on the escalator wearing a suit, good-looking but not handsome. His suit hid it all. But we can see his insecurities, his family of five, two small kittens, the look he gave his wife before he told her he loved her for the first time, the fragility of his hands. Every human has a weakness, because as a species they are so dependent on variability. The aloof artists with their dreadlocks, the models in their Gucci couture, the archetype of every category, and even those who truly appear different from the rest. All, decipherable and mathematically predictable if ever charted on a graph. Despite efforts to seem unattached and mysterious. Stocky legs, hairy back, premature ejaculator, poor driver, all characteristics invisible underneath a black, pinstripe, polyester suit.

The ambivalent thumbs up, an awkward smile towards a fellow passer-by on the street hurriedly prancing off to their final destination, a trip covered by a smooth stride and a hand through the hair, all these gestures we learn. Gestures that become reflexes, mere karate of instinct. All for our protection, to save some sense of identity in this society of humanity full of uniques. But we are special. Surely. Just like me and my watch. My new purple watch. Purchased after I lost my red one. It was a difficult decision deciding on which colour to choose, as one would remind me of my stupidity in misplacing such a valuable object, and the other too new to be comfortably familiar. Then a thought popped in my head stating that purple is the colour of mystery and royalty. Red was passion, and if purple stood solely for royalty I would have bought the red, but mystery overrides all clear definitive characteristics simply for being the potential for whatever may happen. Each just an inanimate object that slowly begins to take on life and fits on me as if to say, "YES! I make YOU an INDIVIDUAL!" Taking on meaning, symbolism, philosophical interpretations , thus becoming irreplaceable.

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