the forehead people

and yet, if you look really closely, you can actually see the pride written all over their faces. there, beneath the glossy veneer of self-importance and self-distraction. there, beneath the pent-up frustration of dreams dared and dreams dashed. there, beneath the weary automatism of the daily grind and the days that follow. there, in the minty glare of highly treasured smartphones and e-readers. there, in the soothing mist of lattes and lemon tea. there, in the midst of all those iconic and iconoclastic attachments. there, in the corner of the viewing area. there, in the corner of their eyes. there, in the blink of an eye. there, for all to see. and there, for one fleeting moment, for junior to see. for he can see it all. he can see their pride. he can see their distractions. he can see their frustrations. he can see their weariness. but more than anything, he can see their foreheads.