The sun rose and set in her eyes.

The sun rose and set in her eyes.

Her loose school uniform hang askew on her frame, moving this way when she moved that way. The young girl sat on her grand ma's laps, the energy in her little frame urgently looking for a way out.

The young girl's eyes bounced around, cutting through the weak afternoon heat, the grating coughs, and finally settled on a young woman who had just walked into the bus. She strode through the narrow aisle like she was walking down Hollywood Boulevard, walking towards her chauffeured limousine. Her presence was painful, she did not belong here, she did not belong on that bus with the rest of us. Her presence was a reminder of all she had, all we'd never see, the kind of life we'd never live.

The young girl's eyes lit up when the lady slid in the seat opposite hers, whipping out a slim cellular phone and launching into a dreamy conversation. They ran over her perfect hair, her heavily jeweled fingers, her impractical patent leather high heels. And her head turned. She took in her own worn shoes,shoes so used not even a good polish could bring them back to grace. They worked up her ashy legs, the uneven hemline held together with a medley of stitches and then wandered out of the bus, outside the window, and to an unknown destination. And slowly, the sun in her eyes set as I watched.