today from my car at a red light I watched a trio at the stopwalk, two girls and a boy, a year or two younger than I, perhaps. both the girls had med. short edgy haircuts, the likes of which I often secretly used to wish I had the creativity or hardy intestines to try, one her natural dirty blonde and the other very stand-out in a bright blonde; bleached enough to appear unnatural, but platinum enough to look cool. Both girls seemed comfortable in their long, light jeans-shorts and long, light, baggy plaid shirts. muchacho was wearing tighter darker jeans, a dark green shirt and dark facial hair -- the kind every almost-twenty-something young man desirous of facial hair hopes to have -- in a trendy-lengthed outgrowth around his jowls and chin. (Like a beard, but too short to have escaped the comforts of his chin's dropoff. [Does this still technically qualify as a beard?])

They crossed the street and walked and talked. The three of them. Maybe they had called each other up beforehand to get together. Maybe they had plans, a destination. Maybe they didn't.
Maybe they were just walking and talking for the sake of walking and talking. And relating. That sounds good, living life together.