People Watching

I balance on the ledge of my window, up 31 floors, back pressed firmly against the side. 

Sometimes, I will look below, and watch. 

And sometimes, it helps. 

I watch a lady in a glittering suit barking on her slick black phone. Her heels clack sharply against the street above the noise of the people. 

I see an old man with a filthy hat and cards in his hand, getting a little too close to anyone who comes near, skin caked with dirt.

I notice two little girls, rugged and alive, chasing each other down the block, shouting – joyously or in fear? What are they even doing alone? – and dodging the hundreds filing down the crowded block.

I see a young man with flaming hair and glasses, looking proud and sure, with a briefcase stretched to the brim with papers; he’s got somewhere important to be and it’s getting to his head.

An ancient couple walking slowly but surely after decades of living in a big city, no doubt heading to their favorite little diner.

I have a connection to each one of them. They are all human, beautiful, messy, selfish, scared, happy, living. 

And this is why I love people-watching.