Commute

"The world will become the places we've all been." The light was red when I pulled up and I was thinking about that line, wondering how something so simple could feel so profound. I watched as the cars trying to turn nestled into their spots, murmuring in idle and waiting patiently for their chance. The sun was shining its promise but the morning air was cool. I put the window down just as the song ended and a girl caught my eye as she passed in front of the car. There was no doubt that she was beautiful. I looked over at the guy in the truck but his attention was focused on her. The woman across the street, waiting to cross, weighted down with a brief case and a coffee, was fixated.
The girl walked slowly; the sway of her hips, the only movement. The bike courier put a hand to her hair, suddenly conscious of what the wind was doing to it. The guy in the truck smiled in a serene but wistful way. The noise of the city was muted here on this corner, cocooned in the moment, but only for a moment.
And then she was gone, down the street, and the light turned green, the next song started and someone honked their horn to break the impasse. The morning turned normal and we all crept into the intersection fresh from a dream, and a little groggy at the beginning of the day.