And I don’t want to see anything. I don’t want to hear anything. But I see everything and I hear everything. I recognize everyone, but I try not to linger my gaze on anyone. Open mouths held half-lidded, in relaxed anticipation—those who don’t understand anything. Heavy, impenetrable faces of those who don’t want to understand. Lips, curled into a sly half-smile—those who understand everything and seem to be asking: “And how will you sing now?” Silent, sympathetic eyes of those who are forced to tear themselves away from their own worries by our procession. And that’s the worst—the silent looks of those who sympathize with you, forced to set aside their own concerns.