I sit here quietly not causing a stir, but becoming transluent as air. You feel the presence of something you cannot see. Some greater unknown that chills when breathed in. Oh! When did you get here? Passing comments of excitement breeze by my ears. I hear but I do not listen. For these are not my people. There is no skepticism. There is no appreciation for the inane. There is no sense of no fashion. No, these are not my people. No recognition, the air is thick and not wthout substance. Even those who notice a slight density may be in this world, but they are on the other side of it. No, these are not my people.