There’s a group of people you probably don’t notice all that often. They sit in their houses and watch the television, without knowing what’s on. They stand on the porch and listen to the wind whistle through the trees, though they know not the weather. They are lost to the world.

They never wave back, because they never saw you waving in the first place. Their friends have died, in more than one way. They don’t see the traffic, they don’t hear the music, they don’t feel the sun as it warms their skin.

And when they die, not one will remember who they were. They were always dead; they died long ago. The wind whips past, the television picture fades; and you too, will forget they ever existed.