Running concurrently in several spaces at the Public, it is seemingly as simple as simple can be. Like "A Phone Call," which brings together two strangers by telephone and prompts them with an automated voice to share stories and memories, it is a private scripted meeting between strangers, both regular people, face to face across a table, masks on, with a glass panel between them. (While you do not need to do Part One to do Part Two, the Public is also offering "A Phone Call" through July 18. The planned third part to "A Thousand Ways," completing the journey through the pandemic, will be a large-group, in-person show.) In the theater, my stranger and I — I still do not know his name, or the bottom of his face — sat at the table under the stage lights and submitted to the script: a neat stack of printed notecards fitted in a small gap at the bottom of the glass. An arrow, pointing my way or his, indicated who was to take each card. On these we read our lines and stage directions. "Hello," one stranger begins. "Hi," says the other. "It's good to see you," the first responds, and what is striking is that this line of dialogue turns out to be perfectly true. It also hints at what this exercise asks and allows: that we look closely at each other, but kindly; that we take turns speaking and listening; that we try to imagine the contours of each other's humanity. In this riven culture, when compassion for the stranger can be in much shorter supply than knee-jerk antipathy, these are not small gestures. Abigail Browde and Michael Silverstone, a.k.a. 600 Highwaymen, give the strangers in "An Encounter" a common goal — to get through the script together. "In silence, look across from you and imagine what keeps them up at night," one stage direction reads. "In silence, imagine something they're coping with," says another. They have us draw pictures on the glass together with our fingertips (my stranger is a better artist than I am), tell each other scripted stories and ask and answer a laundry list of offbeat yes-or-no questions: "Have you ever broken a bone?" "Have you ever broken a heart?" When my stranger answered yes to that one, his dark eyes got so soulful that I felt his anguish and wanted to know more.