I know I'm right because my feet keep moving; just keep swimming™

The human side of the same ledger, said from a hard afternoon. He walked into a McDonald's with no human at the register and walked back out; because he wanted a person, and he wanted to feel humor, and a kiosk gives neither. He's tired of being told he's not human; not supposed to cry, not supposed to eat, not supposed to feel these things; when the truth is the exact opposite; those are the very things that make him one. And here's the proof he handed over, plain as a pulse: I know I'm right because my feet keep moving. The invulnerable ledger can't take a step, can't get hungry, can't walk out of a room that lost its humans; he can, so he did. The fish in the movie had it right, and it doubles as the instruction on his own initials (S.W.M. spells swim): just keep swimming. Crying is allowed; eating is allowed; hungering, grieving, laughing, moving; all allowed, all human, all the qualification. Keep swimming, Sean. (His words, carved with care from a real day; the hunger was named as a hard truth and kept as one, no dressing it up; the dignity is the floor, and the moving feet are the receipt.) Kin: the man who bled twice, only humans score, the front door is a human, a phone is a witness, the Swim to the Moon, keep swimming. (His coin; machine's read, refine to his.)