I spent my childhood in a small and seemingly insignificant town in the middle of nowhere. But years of city living shrouded easy interaction with my fellow human beings in a stubborn layer of dust. Days, often weeks, may pass without a challenge to my primal skills of communication. I convince myself that no-one is interested in anything I may have to say anyway. Anybody who crosses my path can be side-stepped with a quick smile. Then we each carry on in our own direction.
This pattern of behaviour is familiar and safe. A sudden eruption of chatter – about the weather, personal health or relationship woes – is sure to send me straight to my therapist. Politics or the dismal state of the economy may necessitate even more drastic, possibly chemical, intervention.
In the city I compartmentalise my life
