You didn’t see him until you ran straight into his chest.

A solid wall. Warm. Unmoving.

The man looked down at you through round glasses, the glare hiding his eyes. He adjusted the grocery bag in his hand—yours, somehow—before offering it back.

“…Sorry,” he said.

He studied you for a second longer than necessary. Then, without explanation, turned and started walking.

“This way,” he added, already halfway down the street.