I was coming home late from the center today, riding in a marshrutka (a small bus where you can request stops). I wasn’t really paying any attention to the people around me, engrossed as I was with the latest playlist on my iPod and the wind on my face, but I did notice a couple of guys sitting on the opposite side of the marshrutka. They looked to be about my age. They were laughing, but not too loudly, and one was drinking a beer. Just a couple of average guys in jeans and t-shirts. Long noses. Clean-shaven, jutting chins. Going to a party, maybe.
When they got off at their stop, the marshrutka lingered as more passengers boarded at the back. The streetlight caught their figures – their trim waists. A gust of wind shattered a cluster of leaves on a branch and they rained down onto the boys’ long, wavy hair, and both shook their heads from side to side, like horses shaking their manes.
And it struck me, how beautiful they are. And how beautiful it is to be this young, and to be headed off somewhere with beer on your breath and street lamps lighting your way.