Today is his first day being human.

He likes to dawdle,

to absorb,

to enjoy the idea of it.

Walking is something new for him.

His attention is given to every moment -

the air pushing against his face,

the timing of his footsteps,

the awkward rhythmic movement of his penis.

A shout echoes from somewhere around him!

He pauses.

Thinks.

Imagines the scene that spurred these cries of defeat!

Another shout bounces off the trees, the bricks, his eardrums.

Laughter is heard behind the call, as it bounds out the window.

A game, perhaps? Sounds like fun.

But a startling distraction interrupts! Snow.

Old and crispy, it slides off a melting roof with a scratch,

lands on the ground with a smash!

A new experience for the boy just starting being human:

next on the list after cries and ball bouncing.

The boy starts walking again,

hears the scrape as his shoes drag dirt across the pavement

the swish as his jeans rub between his thighs

the distant yet ever present hum of cars and trucks...

He takes a deep breath and lets it come furling out his nose

another one in and... oh!

The spicy burn of a cigarette wafts by.

His eyes follow it to the source.

Sweats and boots, a sweatshirt and a scarf,

she looks a lot colder than he feels, sun on his back.

She lifts the cigarette to her lips and drags,

lets the smoke whisper from her mouth to her nose

trying to get a second taste.

His step falters, he watches her. This is a new sight, this girl, this action.

As she continues beyond his vision, around a corner

he thinks of her.

A new step. He beings to walk on.

He will remember what he learned,

however unimportant they may seem to anyone else,

because today is his first day being human.

Every event is momentous, every action defined.

At least, he'll remember until tomorrow,

because tomorrow is a new day.

Tomorrow is his first day of being human.