A thousand instances of eye contact, irrevocable, in the Chipotle line. I lock eyes briefly with a man who carries his umbrella consolidated. It is not raining outside, but he has read something. He orders a burrito without meat or cheese, his last refuge. He discovers that meat has somehow found its way into every steel pit of toppings, worming amid native stalks. Detectable fibers in the tortilla when he bites down, final. Vegan tears, which are saltier.