There were others there, all bundled in so many layers their faces and even their sexes were indiscernible, save for height. They paid no attention to me. They were facing the walls, mittened fingers touching the stones, whispering. All over the walls and columns were faded, black and white photographs of asexual people joined in stiff embraces. They embraced each other in full body hugs, over the shoulder, round the waist, from the side, from the back, around the neck, and on, and on, and on. Beneath each photo was a brief information sheet about the embrace, who invented it if known, when it was in vogue, the advantages, and the political ramifications (which ruler had banned it and why, which palmers adopted it as a sacred greeting, which countries consider it a filial embrace as opposed to a sensual embrace, and on, and on, and on).

Now and then one of the cloaked figures about me would walk up to another figure, say the name of the embrace in the photo directly in front of them several times, and would then stiffly imitate the pose, and move on. One of the figures approached me and began the memorization ritual for a photo near me. I addressed the figure and said "I hate this. I took The History of the Embrace for joy, to express love among my peers and learn about how humans touch one another. This is just stale memorization of flat facts in a cold place. How can we learn to love this way?"