There is a homeless man on sheridan square. He yells out to people walking by. "buy some batteries, or incense." He waves the supplies around. Some of the incense sicks are lit, their scent mixes in with the smell coming from the cigar hanging out of his mouth. Everyone ignors him. Walking on quickly towards their destinations.
The ground seems to be coated in trash, lots of old yellow newspapers, candy wrappers, a plastic foam cup. There is a trash can. A sign on it says "keep New York city clean." ironicly it's almost empty, as if using the can is out of fasion.
It's cold here, with no buildings to block the wind. Most people have on big coats and long puffy scarves. I see a few dogs. One dockson has on huge fancy brown shoes, and is forced to totter to walk. His owner didn't seem to notice.
It's loud here, like a zoo, with all of these different sounds compeating; the dogs occasional barks, little children shrieking, people yaking away on cell phones, or the pay phones, the crazy cars honking, the wind fiercly throwing the magizinesand newspapers. Everything moved frantically in different directions. People who walked in groups walked closely together, wanting to get somewhere warm. I would like to go with them, but have to take a few more notes.
Some headed towards the subway station. If I listened I could hear trains underneath me. There was braille next to the subway entrance. I wondered what it would be like to not be able to see. How would you explain sight to someone who has always been blind? How would you explain color? That's like describing taste to someone without a mouth. You wouldn't be able to use examples like with a little kid; pointing out objects and asking what color they are.
I looked around again. Everything looks so old, all the paint is chipped, and there was grafitti everywhere. A rusty bike was locked to a sign that read, "No parking anytime." the seat of the bike was scratched and pieces of the leather were missing, so that the foam stuffing inside was falling out. The bike's back wheel had been torn off and was missing. The handles were snapped.
There were fewer and fewer people as they dissaper into cafes, pharmacies, a chase bank, a cigar store or maybe the park. The crowds were thinning. The homeless man sat down and started to talk to another man. They laughed.
I wa sready to leave now, and it was getting still colder. I walked down the streets until getting to my own. Seeming quiet and peaceful in comparrison to the one I had just left.
The story was posted on 0000-00-00