To all appearances, people behaved no differently from people in other walled offices in the buildings of other cities he had worked in.  They greeted each other, they opened and closed doors, they shook hands.  They seemed energetic, social beings.  Their mouths opened wide when greeting each other — or others — and stayed terse and tight, even deliberate, when speaking at other times.  When alone in offices or at their desks, yawns were not infrequent.  All this he was familiar with.  He could adjust to its minimalism.  What completely alienated him though was the frequency and manner with which they touched each other.  This touching was constant, at almost every moment of face-to-face contact, from a touch on the forearm all the way to arms around shoulders, even full frontal hugs.  He understood the kind of touching and embracing that comes from the heart reaching out, but their touching was coded, purposeful, bold, impenetrable to him.  He tried once.  He touched Ms. Sullivan with a reassuring tap on her forearm after, absorbed in her handheld, she had run into him coming out of her office.  He was able to react, to take on the brunt of the impact and be thrown to the ground.  On getting to his feet, he touched her only to reassure her that he was fine, that she need not give him a moment’s thought… and, as it happened, she didn’t.