Bubbles and Cigarettes

As my car crosses yet another mile on the highway,

my eyes are temporally transfixed outside through the glass of the side window; looking and not looking.

The sight of a group of young adults catches my eye;

the five men must be in their late tens, or perhaps early twenties; it is difficult to be sure from the distance.

The day-old sun’s descent provides relief from the forty plus centigrades;

and I find them in a circle in front of a closed shop, a couple on the cemented pavement, a couple on the ground beneath;

with something held in some of their hands, cannot tell what exactly.

My curiosity was piqued by a peculiar singularity:

the presence of whitish-grey fumes billowing around and about them, opaque-ing their finer details.

A momentary thought gave me my desired solution:

bubbles! They must be blowing bubbles in the air; care-free and innocent like we all used to be.

‘Bubbles’ explains all the unexplained mysteries,

the objects in their hands are harmless bubble blowers and/or bubble liquid canisters;

they are, to conclude, a group of care-free young men, blowing bubbles by the side of the NH2 in an unimportant small town of UP.

My car crosses yet another couple of miles,

and my brain (uncontrollably) employs its team of heuristic technicians (perhaps heuristicians?) to provide a different solution.

To a feeling I find no reason, my heart somewhat sinks;

cigarette smoke! They must be smoking cigarettes; care-free, yes, but how innocent can prejudice consider them to be?

‘Cigarette’ explains all the unexplained mysteries (too),

the objects in their hands are harmful cigarettes and/or lighters;

they are, to conclude, a group of care-free young men, smoking cigarettes by the side of the NH2 in an unimportant small town of UP.

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I wonder they must have been five pure heart-ed and pure lung-ed children someday, blowing bubbles by the side of the highway. 
These five adults might still be pure heart-ed, but they have undoubtedly lost the adjective of pure lung-ed, smoking cigarettes by the side of the highway.

It is funny how not much has changed: they were once blowing bubble spheres, now they blow smoke rings. 
And along with the loss of the dimensionality, I find time has taken away their purity.

Why can’t age always equal maturity?

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