A music store door swings open somewhere behind you. A piano melody floats out, slow and jazzy. You don’t turn around. You’ve heard enough songs for a while.

You pass a kid spray-painting a mural. They glance up, then go back to their colors.

A bus rolls by, kicking up loose paper and the scent of roasted peanuts from a vendor cart nearby.

Someone’s dancing on the corner. Someone else is clapping in time. A soft beat follows you.

But no one’s said anything. No one’s even looked directly at you.

(And maybe that’s the way you like it right now.)