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We don’t know other people’s stories. So our brain plays a trick on us: it pretends there are none, that unlike us, the people we pass and don’t know anything about, are in fact just what they are to us: a pleasant distraction, invisible or an annoyance. But all of them love somebody, don’t want the people they care about to be hurt and have suffered in the past or maybe in this very moment. We can’t process everybody we pass by as a complex human but when we find ourselves being annoyed we can remind ourselves of this simple truth.