Sitting here oh so alone with nothing but an old man a few tables down from me, I gaze, gaze out in to the great beyond. Out side this little bridge, down there oh so far below, life wanders pass. It passes me by as I sit here oh so silently typing away. Cars, pedestrians, cats and dogs all zoom by. I sit here wondering do they even know that I’m up here looking down on them? Do they know that we were a part of each others’ lives there for that split second that they passed me by.

I gaze down across the corner. A mother and father push their little infant in its stroller. They wait for that familiar blue man to give them permission to cross safely. There they came out of the blue. They are gone just like how they came, silently and distant.

Looking down into the coffee shop just a floor down, students sit at tables flipping their many books and their many pages cramming for the test they so want to pass. Thinking back, I was there once. Just like them. Just like that girl in the red. Flipping through my notes, double checking the figures, relearning the rules and theorems that I so panicky think will be on the test. I sit and sit and sit and read up on everything until my mind explodes. Hours and minutes. Days and weeks pass before I would be able to come to understand what was written in those thick overpriced textbooks that I once worked hard to peddle not so long ago.

Oh how time changes. Cars zoom by. Motorcycles, pedestrians, and oh yes, cats and dogs. They all zoom by one after the other, one after the other. They sometime come in sets, fleets, armadas of life that passes me by.

Damien Rice sings that Older chests pass me by…, I’ll be fine, Just give me time; and time is all I need to feel the way that I need to feel.

A little tot drags his tot toy behind him sleepily as his father drags him across the street oh so safely to get his little boy home for his nightly rest. It will be a while when he will do the same with his own child. Years, decades.

Blondes, brunettes, redheads, black haired, all colors and all sizes, pass me by below. They walk by teasingly, hey look at me with my nice girlish figure, they pass me by with their floral scents that drives men bonkers. They are so in to the game that it intimidates novices like me. They walk by flirtatiously, even though they don’t know where I am, they still do it to tease. That is their game. That is life.

Cars follow the rules and regulations set forth by the lawmakers and the National Transportation Board to protect the safety of all. Left turns only when it is green, whether it is a arrow or if it is safe to do so. Right turns on both greens and reds. Turning to get to the destination they need to go. Home, work, significant others, parties, movies. Places to go, people to see.

Looking down the deep pathway of Westwood Blvd. It stretches far beyond these eyes can see. It comes to a shiny little red point that fades so perfectly into the black night. It goes and goes and goes. Where it stops, another path will continue. It is like time. Pathways are never ending. They continue and continue, always leading you somewhere, always leading you forward.

A man looks out a window, not focusing on the book that is in front of him. I wonder what is he studying, what is he thinking of? Is it Nietzsche or is it Kant? Does the Bolshevik revolution cloud his mind or is it simply the derivative of a simple calculus equation? What are the odds of two people in that same room thinking of the same thing at the same time? I would have to say the odds are pretty good. I would put my life fortune down and reap in all of the mula.

I sit here on this bridge oh so high, trembling as the wind slightly blows its soft breath. I sit here thinking it is the next big one to hit and I am doomed for all eternity, falling into oblivion. I wish I could scream back into that endless pit like my dream girl did in that movie after New Jersey, but I am not brave enough, and I am oh so alone to actually do it.

Speaking of dream girls, I sit here wondering when will my next one arrive? Who will be the next girl that I just feel so comfortable with; when will she come and totally take me by surprise? I guess if I think about it too much, it wouldn’t be a surprise. Who knows, it could be one of those girls crossing the street right now. But looking at how they dress, they are far too fashionable for me.

Cars line up with places to go. My car is parked in the garage, waiting to be started. It takes a rest for I am tired of going to a destination in which I am not familiar with.

Another left, another right. Turn turn turn as the Byrds sang oh so long ago. Life will go on, time will always tick away.

More girls that pass my path, more cars, more pedestrians. Cats and dogs.

Others feel lost and in despair for their way back home are blocked by the steely doors that came down oh so long ago. Where do they go? How do they get back they wonder to themselves. I think to myself, easy, take the long way around. Go down the stairs and cross the street.

The man walks endlessly around in a circle in a circle as he patiently waits for his shift to be over. Circle and circle, round and round he goes.

Lights, pairs and pairs of pale amber lights that shine so brightly below pass me by. Red orbs that gets smaller and smaller away from me and amber brightness that looms largely down the street.

Walking down the street, walking across the street. Just walking, walking to one’s heart content. One foot in front of the other, making pitter patter noises as it hits the pavement, like the beat set forth by the beat of your heart. Thump thump, Thump thump. Pitter patter. Pitter patter.

I sit here listening to Stevie talking about “reflections on the snow covered hills” gazing out the windows that are before me. They show me what life really is. It is all around me.

Left turns, right turns, straight ahead, side to side. Movement all around, but I am here all alone in this lonely dark skybridge as I type my little ditty for all to read. I chose to be here. There are open tables below inside in the warmth aromatic coffee shop, but I cannot get close. Too many people, too many distractions. I need to write, to jot down my thoughts. I cannot disturb those down there who are out for legitimate reasons of sociology, psychology, geology, Nabakov, Vonnegut, and the oh so elusive Salinger.

No I am up here like Vonnegut and Salinger would be. Away, distant, yet involved. Watching. Taking in the scenery, taking in the people, taking in life.

A passive participant I have become as people come near me only to go away because there is no exit behind. All roads lead ahead of me. That is the only way out.

A young woman comes sauntering, jaunting her little body towards my way only to turn to the exit before them. They are here not for the bookstore that is just in front of them, but for the theatre that is on the other side of the mall. They find their exit, cross in front of me down below, and are on their merry way.

Pushing the button to see the blue man, to hurry the blue man, to get the permission to be active, to go ahead, to walk ahead, to go, to leave, to go, to leave, to do what it is they need to do, to reach their destination. They push the button, they push and they push. I hold it down.

There they go, walking across the street down below, heading toward their destination. The young girl still saunters, still teases as she skips her way across, as she dances her little moves to draw one’s eye. There they go, they disappear.

They come into my life and they leave. That’s how people are, that