Have I gone forward with the crowd, and said / Unto myself, “The face of every one / That passes by me is a mystery!”--Wordsworth
The wild effects of the light enchained me to an examination of individual faces; and although the rapidity with which the world of light flitted before the window prevented me from casting more than a glance upon each visage, still it seemed that, in my then peculiar mental state, I could frequently read, even in that brief interval of a glance, the history of long years.--Poe
I walked briskly down the steps and headed back to my perch above that consecrated bookstore (out with the books, in with the pews). My pace was too swift to get even a superficial impression of the people I passed. I decided to make a game out of summing up my reactions based on my cursory glances: sad eyes, old world style; deeply cleft chin eclipsing all other features; dark collar of chest hair escaping from shirt; steely jaw almost certainly feigning anger; insincere acceptance of the beak god gave him; something missing in the cheeks, no dimples, the undotted js, quite sexy actually, this typographic variant of a face [my face was punctuated, and when I thought of the others, with smooth, unbroken cheeks, I felt some attraction to this run-on visage].
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