Outside my window.

  Smeared and smudgy with fingerprints and possibly dried snot, the bus window which I was looking out of made me rethink what I called dirty. I withdrew my hands before I could touch them, I'd rather not catch cancer today. A middle-aged man was leaning heavily against the railing in front of me, obviously being too cool to sit. His body was riddled with piercings, and he had tattoos on top of his tattoos. Whenever he had the chance, he'd shoot a withering glance in my direction, just to make sure I knew how much of a bad ass he was. From that distance, he could've heard my muffled smirking. But with the deafening volume of music he was listening to, I doubt he could hear anything at all.

  Not one of my best bus rides admittedly, but my mind was somewhere else. Through the filthy bus windows, the world outside had my full attention. Ever took a good look at one of those country-side post cards? Where there's a picture of rolling hills peppered with trees sitted so beautifully in front of a sunset? And birds, they'll always add pretty-ass birds in there just for good measure. Toss in a couple of farm animals, and I almost feel like buying one for myself already. I always thought that part of the world was a myth. Not because I was a conspiracist or anything, I just never saw it  with my own eyes before.

  Growing up, the big city was everywhere around me. Traffic jams were common as dirt  and the only trees you see are ones sprouting out of concrete. Even when I lay my head down at night, the distant sound of zooming cars and redundant fireworks was never too far away. Where the only things I scrape my knees and elbows on are tar and concrete. A concrete jungle. I remember spending my childhood in this. As kids, we'd stuff rolled up newspapers into car exhaust, just for kicks. We'd patiently wait for the owner to walk by and we'd burst out laughing when the newspaper roll shot out in black smoke after a million starts.

  Just going outside to play required adult supervision back then. Even then, I still managed to break a poor kids' nose off a bike. Somedays, we weren't even allowed to go outside. The air would be so thick with haze that our eyes watered and it hurt to even breathe. Even when it rained, the water would still feel warm on your skin. You've learned to keep well away. Get enough of that on your skin and you'd bound to be scratching a sleepness night away. From where I'm from and where I'm at, even the most simplest of things are different. Even the rain.

  But here, it's different here. Not the most happening of places though, malls and fancy cafes don't exist, and the only action you get around here is watching cows chew their cuds all day long. But at least I can breathe here. Here, the rivers don't stain the bottom of my pants brown. After staying in the hustle and bustle of the big city for so long, I guess I've overlooked some of life's simplest gifts. A breathe of fresh air. Beautiful scenery.It's the little things, you know? It's the little things that make this world all worthwhile. The world outside this window.