How to get to my house from school (using people as landmarks)

I wish you could see everyone on my route to and from school.  I love watching them and imagining their stories.  But since I usually feel intrusive photographing them, I'm giving you a glimpse of them this way.

You walk out of the building, past the neighborhood first graders clambering up the Logos slide before their Khmer class starts,

Along the soccer field where tall teens practice their goalie dives until their rides show up,

Ride your bike along the walkway with the Bangladeshi man selling sweets to help a friend in crisis,

To the gate with the soft-spoken guard who interrupts his news show to take your red tickets,

Out through a throng of neighborhood kids arriving in Merry Christmas T-shirts and white-and-navy school uniforms.

Turn right after the impeccable curled-hair mom sitting bored in her big black Lexus,

Veer to the middle to miss the family fishing on the edge of the street (which is, of course, still flooded),

And left after the construction crew of bare-chested skinny men, checkered krama scarves around their waists.

Curve around after the three laughing guys whose scooter is taking the corner much too fast,

And gaze at the sunset to your left, not the young guys on the right, abandoning their volleyball game in a grassy lot to make kissing noises at you,

Left again where a blonde-haired boy is walking his dachshund in front of his tall, narrow, pink house,

Around the bend where a small boy in red holds the elbow of a smaller girl in pink to help her miss the puddles.

Slow down at the market so you can spot the dogs darting out and the college girls cycling home with mango and chili salt,

All the way to the big road, where middle-aged men sit at child-sized plastic tables to enjoy their curry and noodles.

Wait there until you can merge into traffic with the young family in the rusty gray Toyota,

Past rows of girls in short skirts and long hair, attracting beer garden customers,

Slow down for the lady in the checkered pink hat, pushing her bike with a tall basket of baguettes for sale,

And squeeze in beside the bright blue truck whose bed is laden with weary welders heading home.

At the red light, take a shortcut through the gas station where attendants sit at their pumps so passing vehicles won’t run over their feet,

Left after the hotshot guys in suits standing around in front of the big flashy Karaoke TV place (read: brothel),

Past the businessman starting a moto, wearing a much-too-small Cinderella backpack that just might belong to the little girl on his lap.

Continue through the intersection with the lady who sells you cool fresh coconuts after your runs,

And left after the Korean family sitting outside the Blue Pumpkin shop with ice cream cones,

Where a couple flirts atop a parked moto in the shade of the trees.

Look out for the shaggy little dog meandering, 
wait while the Joy Water employees pause kicking around a colorful feathered hacky sack to let you through,

And come to a stop where a 17-year-old girl with an exuberant laugh opens your gate, impatient to chat with you.

Welcome home!