Shuffle, smirk

She shuffles down the hall, stopping just beyond the threshold of my office. I look up from my work and smile at the sight:
Her hair is a fuzzy mess, with a silly cowlick at her crown. Her glasses are on straight, but they are smudged. She wears a pretty cross around her neck, hanging where her breasts should be. Her shirt is clean, but seems a bit sloppy. Her pants are loose, hands in her pockets. I say good morning, and she looks surprised.
She shuffles in and takes a seat across from me. I ask her silly little questions, and she gives silly little answers. I can't quite put my finger on it, but I think she has a sense of humor, and she's poking at me. I could be wrong though. No matter.
After I run out of questions, we sit in silence. It seems comfortable to her, but I squirm.
I go back to my work, glancing up every few minutes. She is focused at something outside the window, but glances over at me with a smirk.
With a grunt, she stands up, shoves her hands back in her pockets, and walks out of my office. As she steps into the hallway, she glances back, catching my eye.
That is all.
I see her numerous times throughout the day, wandering through the halls, entering other residents' rooms, curling up in a chair in the living room. I don't know if she knows where she is, what year it is......but she walks with purpose. I don't see the purpose, I don't understand it, but I know it's there, for her.
Each night as I leave the building, I think of her, shuffling down the hall with that little smile on her face. I think about my own purpose, my own steps, my hands shoved in my pockets, my own wandering. I wonder if I elude that sense of purpose. I wonder if the smile on my face fools everyone. I wonder if it fools me.