The traffic sat in a smoking grid behind the white line, illuminated only by red taillights, the red shimmer of the stoplights, and a burning afternoon sun.

I look out at my fellow commuters. Ahead, a group of students stare out the windows of a packed school bus. To the right, a woman in an SUV cheerfully chatters on a cell phone.

I look out to the left, where a pair of beautiful blue eyes shine back at me through the open windows of an old rusty automobile. A light golden face, peeking out from below long curled black hair, reflected a soft light over the gray abyss of traffic, shining brightly with a beautiful smile between lips the color of a red rose's dried petals.

The light turned green and our eyes parted ways just as quickly as they had met.

I like traffic lights.

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