The traffic aide blows her whistle. He startles, previously distracted by the way the aide shifted from side to side. Probably to ease her tired legs. 

The pedestrians waiting with him move. He lets them carry him along, across the road. Once again, he is a droplet in a rush of water despite the many years that have passed. His university gates loom a block away. He lets the current drag him to them.

There is too much to take-in this time. Too much. Here, there are too many faces and voices and smells and light. There was so much light. And heat. And garbage. He sweats and smells not five minutes outside, in the city air.

Yet still, he keeps watching. Dragged on by the tides, he takes it all in. Every spot of slimy spit on the street. Every skirt that swished. All that his eyes swept over.

Eyes

He blinks.

He knows those eyes. 

His feet step in front of the young woman, disturbing her path as one would a droplet trickling down. His eyes remain on her face. Her face. Turned towards the ground like she has lived her life watching her every step. She glances up at him, turns her unreadable eyes to his. And suddenly he can't see. Are you angry? Are you happy? Do you remember me? Do you know me?

He stares, and she stares, and he waits, and the moment is gone. She looks back down towards the earth and walks past. Like a riptide that has run him by.

His head falls back. Eyes seeking reprieve from these overwhelming currents. Then he notices them. Birds. Little brown birds sit on electric wires above him. Maya.