"In a few words, describe what makes you unique," he said.
"I'm aware."
His eyebrows raised slightly. "How?" he said.
"I'm aware of this communication. I'm aware of how it will fail if I don't phrase my thoughts correctly. I'm aware of how my legs move and how my feet orient when I walk. I'm aware of my heartbeat. I'm aware of how the corners of my wife's mouth turn down ever so slightly when she's disappointed." He paused to gather his thoughts. "I don't think most people are."
"Are what? Aware?" he said.
"Yes. It's hard," he said. His face was earnest.
The man before him crossed his legs, the microfibre of his trousers whispering. "Tell me," he said.
"I avoid people when I'm tired. It's too much work. Thinking; always thinking." He clenched his fists. "I can see it in their eyes; when they understand me, and when they don't. It's terrible when they don't. I can't hold their eyes. They look around me - or worse, through me - with the hint of a smile." His eyes had been on the rug. They flew to the man's eyes as he finished.
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