Everyone here is a stranger. To each other. To themselves, half the time. We’re all somewhere else — inside our own heads, our own small worlds, occupied, and sure that no one is watching. The thing that keeps us apart is the thing we all share. We are each alone in exactly the same way. Look long enough and the strangeness turns. The stranger stops being foreign and starts being familiar — someone doing what we do, lost the way we get lost, carrying on. Strangers, all of us. Which is another way of saying none of us, quite.