Chains, impossibly fine links of iron shimmered beneath his gaze. Like a ferrous spiderweb, they linked everything.

Him to her to her to him.

Here to there to this to that.

Iron threads spun out between the customer and the barista, the acquaintance shimmering as money and coffee changes hands, remaining even after they put each other out of mind.

The customer is tied to the person who was both behind and before her in line, little encounters that shimmer like bells. A knowing was spun between her and the cameras and the cameras and everything else in the shop. The cup in her hand is tied to her with an intimacy as she drinks from it, it fades to an acquaintance as she finishes her drink and throws it away. She pays as little attention to the people around her as she can get away with and once she finishes her drink she pays it no mind.

For the barista there's a million little acquaintances tied to him and countless encounters tangled up with what's inside the register. How many people does he see in a day? How many bills does he handle in a week? There's a network of knowings tying him to his co-workers and some of the patrons, does he know their favorite orders by heart? An intimacy is tied between him and his tools, he knows them like the back of his hand.

Delicate talons of burnished brass brushed across the links in his mind's eye, Knowing their strength, seeing where they were attached. He could spin them from nothing, cut them, hijack them, cloak them, deceive them and use them in dozens of different ways for dozens of different goals.

They were his.