Youth

A flock of young boys make their way across the onramp to the highway, riding their skateboards, scooters, bikes. Smiling and laughing, looking around freely.

The turn signal blinks an unsteady mechanical rhythm (Tick-clack, tick-clack, tick-clack, tick-clack), watching them cross. The driver waits their turn to be dragged down the road to the prison, foot pinned to the gas by stabbing fear as the digits on the dashboard clock tick by.

A skinny old man in tattered clothes, walking his shopping cart full of trash bags with everything he owns, stops to let the young boys pass.

And for a moment, everyone stops to watch them ride, tearing past the hustle and bustle of the traffic jam, flying by the smattering of tents around the homeless encampment, and casually speeding away.

There they were, flashing before everyone’s eyes, bright and invincible. Brilliant, and then gone.