four hundred people on this blocknshaking hands, yes they're doing goodncause business is goodnand being polite makes everything go real smoothlynswarms of aunts and uncles with tiny handsncrossing roads, looking both waysnand weighing the pros and the cons of that stepnbut they'll cross that bridge when they get therenni am a totally different person when i'm alonennforty-odd thousand, twenty-something tiny dotsnshuffled into a boxnwhere we're sorted and shuffled backnwith a certified false sense of big bad dot-dom.nnand we shimmy and shake and vibratenon the same strands of energy we've always been stuck toni'd love to jump across one dayntry to change statesnni am a totally different person when i'm alone