His Perch

His perch is up high. It's above a busy highway, on a streetlight that has never seemed to work. At times he moves his perch, to another streetlight or another highway, but up that high above all the cars in constant traffic, every highway starts to look the same.
Where he is, he is almost never noticed. Up above the traffic, above the smog and dust that the cars belch out, more and more by the minute, no one ever thinks to look up. Too concentrated on where they are going, no one takes the time to notice their surroundings, to notice he is there.
Everyone is too caught up in their own lives, in where they're going and how to get there. The passengers are too preoccupied in their own accessories, their ipods, their radios, their video games and their cellphones and whatever else they have piled into their cars to distract them from their lives. On and on they go, one after the other, never noticing what they are missing.
He, on the other hand, simply sits at his perch and watches. Watches car after car go by, every one of them ever restless, never content with where they are, always wanting to keep moving.
So he watches them.