The Watchman was tired. Tired of faking a smile for everyone who passed in and out of the gate, with hardly a glance at him. But he had been doing this for years now, day and night, and it came automatically now – the stiff widening of the lips that he called a ‘smile’, that created no strain to the lines on his face or to his eyes. True, that not many acknowledged it, but he did it every time. He was about to close the gate when the Mother with her two-year-old on the stroller appeared.