[He rolls the empty glass between his hands for something to do, something to occupy them or else it's back to fidgeting, to picking at them, chewing them, worrying them for somewhere to direct his energy.]

But there aren't. Everybody wants something, they're all out for themselves. They're always watching, waiting for the mistake or the wrong move or the thing to take advantage of. The opening so they can chew you up and spit you out. Or eat your soul. There aren't any better people.