People

We are
from the transient at the market on Saturday with the patched pants and the adorable puppy who showd me a necklace, telling me it was made from traveler's stones and buffalo horn, which I purchased, even though it was obviously plastic, (Hey, it has value in the Labrynth!)
to the seventeen-year-old boy at the rock concert last night that was trying to grind my leg like a Schnauzer,
to the semi-professional baseball player singing his heart out to Taylor Swift in the hotel lobby this morning,
to the foul-smelling woman sitting behind me at my little sister's graduation talking loudly in her seventy-five-year-old chain-smoker voice to everyone around her through the whole thing and blaring her airhorn in my ear when her granddaughter's name was called,
what make up our race,
and what make the world.