The speaker notices a stranger in a gas station aisle and studies them closely: shoulder-length blond hair, "paper bones," smudged rings around the eyes. The person seems old, though the speaker admits it isn't really about wrinkles. It's the downturned mouth and the look of someone bereaved and worn out. The speaker offers a small smile and a nod, but gets nothing back. The stranger's gaze is fixed on nothing, and they may not have noticed the speaker at all.
What the speaker feels is quieter than pity. There's concern, a little awkwardness, and maybe a sense of helplessness at meeting someone else's sorrow in such an ordinary, anonymous place. The ending is flat and plain: "they walked past me / And I walked past too." The repeated "walked past" suggests how easily two people can share a space and stay separate. The mood is hushed, tired, and a bit lonely, with a faint ache about the connection that didn't happen.