I have walked in deep, dark places, and crawled through darker, still -- gas-lit slums long after the dusk, where lamplight failed to spill. So surprised by fleeting faces that faded in and out -- like visions from the sleep-drift, they never loiter about. They come, they see, and then they pass -- these alien observers. They pass with just a fleeting glance, like someone else's server. They care not what you think you need, or who you think you are. You're just an automaton shopper within the grand bazaar.