She takes a week to just watch people.
The first day is her watching herself watch people. She just goes into a crowd and focuses on not looking at the ground and noting what she notices. She learns, first that it is harder than she thought, she is so unused to the endeavor, and second that she notices clothes & butts first, followed closely by hair. She considers that staring at peoples butts is a compromise, staring is easier when people are turned away, that it's halfway between the ground and their eyes. She suspects she's just staring at their butts.
The next day she tries to focus on faces. They pass quickly, and it's uncomfortable, so the day becomes a jumble of pieces and impressions. Cheekbones & boredom. Bags under the eyes, a thin jaw. Wisps of hair above pouty lips. A skewed hairline & pale, pale eyebrows. A mouth twisted and wide in laughter.
A new day, a new focus. Hands. Shoulders. Posture.
By the end of the week, she realizes she has never seen the same person twice. She has drifted from place to place for lunch, and people don't usually go to the park every day, but still... she rides the same buses at the same times. She loiters in the same cafe after work hours, the same bar after dinner. No one, driver, customer, staff, no one is the same.
She still watches people, scared to stop now.
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