The young man eyed us, unblinking and unflinching, measuring us in turn. My sister, talking to me, barely spared him a glance. The gentleman sitting behind me stared ahead. I met his eye a moment longer than he probably expected me to. I decided he was not imagining each of our responses should he suddenly reveal that he was strapped to a bomb. Nor was he looking for a friendly face to sit next to; he didn’t want conversation with a stranger. And he wasn’t guessing what procedure each of us was waiting on in the outpatient surgery waiting room.