Sunday, 12:34pm.

I sit in the kitchen, at the old tired table my friend’s parents gave us, when I’m working on my daily to-do lists. To my left is a door with a finely placed window, just the right height for me to see out of. When I take momentary breaths throughout the day, I sneak a look outside to see what the world has to offer. The view is absolutely unbreathtaking, to say the least. All I can see is the edge of our back neighbor’s house, their driveway, some trees, and the street behind us. But it’s because of this normal everyday view of nothing new that I like it.

I see our neighbor at least once a day from this view, usually. He’s a hispanic man, and looks to be about 30 or so. On most days, I simply see him contently out by his truck, packing or unpacking work tools, but it’s on the weekend that I see him smile. See, on the weekend, the little boy that I’m quite sure has to be his son, visits. It’s on these days I see the man outside all day, simply enjoying the tree-shade sunlight with his little one. They do nothing but sit and play, play and sit, and walk around together in their tiny backyard. They don’t know this, but I’m glad they’re happy together with the simple things, and I wish I could thank them, because every weekend they give me an extra thing to smile about.