Boy on the Bus

I catch a waft of stale smoke and patchouli as he glides down the isle way to his seat dressed in a camouflage bomber jacket that looks like something strait out of Vietnam. He stares out the window watching the snow melt on the glass as he picks at the callouses on his fingers. While he stares at his feet, I wonder if he wonders if anyone can see him the way I see him...

Author's Note

Just some character building