Every time I ride the bus in Chicago, perhaps because I’m such an occasional rider and don’t have the a fully developed set of city blinders, I notice things. As the tired, miscellaneous crowds squash themselves further and further back into the bus in response to the driver’s shouted exhortations, these glances shoot back and forth between people like the spontaneous firing of neurons—glances that look almost desperate, as though to say, “I wish so badly that I could connect with you, the way humans in such close proximity are meant to do.”

Once in a while, I witness people actually seize on an excuse and strike up a casual conversation, and it as though a huge, pent-up electrical charge has been released into the air.