There are many small shops in New York, where people go only on impulse.The owners are usually people who want to start a business, but don’t have a lot of business sense. They are people who are determined, but without a lot of money in the bank.
That’s what the Fire Monkey was. It was the 50th street. knick- knack store, run by a woman who was very thoughtful. She seemed to always have spare change and pet food for stray animals and stray people. Every cent that wasn’t in her bank account was made up for in her heart.
The distinct scent of brewing coffee drifts out of the coffee shop on the corner of 50th street. As I look out upon the river, the fiery sun begins to exit the world. Then, when the sun slips down into the river, where it will set again tomorrow, the dark blanket of night covers the city. The people settled down, fireflies lit up upon the city skyline. The coffee aroma faded, leaving cold, hard pavement and the mere memory of cookies from the bakery. It’s different at night. Somehow quieter, although many cars and people are still roaming the streets. It’s amazing to think that millions of people, thinking their own independent thoughts pass by the same space, yet it shows no evidence.
In the morning, the cleaners will open, filling the air with bleach, but it overpowered easily by the baking bread and cookies, as well as the coffee. And then, once again, people will go about their daily business. And when this day ends, another will take its place. And so goes a day in New York City.