Post by magni on Jul 2, 2009 23:42:55 GMT -6
The lights of Times Square flashed gaudily in the evening light, their multicolored advertisements patterning the sidewalks below in a dazzling variety of artificial light. People shuffled and pressed along the too-narrow sidewalks, accompanied by the irregular humming of cars as they crowded though streets of an equally inadequate width. The wheeled vehicles often added their own noises to the pulsing hum of Times Square, mostly in a widely discordant pulse of angry horns blaring.
There were more than a few tourists standing agape in one of the most famous city locales in the world. Tourists. Always there were tourists here, staring, taking photos, pointing excitedly at the latest advertisement unfurled over a building's side... tourist things, things repeated a hundred thousand throughout the day. No one batted an eye at such people. Why should they? Either the other pedestrians of the square were fellow tourists or locals who saw such scenes replaying like endless summer reruns over and over and over again on television.
Scattered irregularly through the crowds of people were the usual loiterers; peddlers, typically, armed with chintzy tourist goods people would only think of bringing back to their co-workers or someone as equally disliked for a cheap gift, as proof that one had visited New York. The peddlers were not the only ones mingling with the crowd, however. Street performers, be they aspiring artists or homeless people looking for a few quick dollars danced, sang, or performed various other little stunts for brief scatters of passing applause and hopefully a dollar or some change.
Amidst the pressing masses there was a young man. There was nothing outwardly special about him, really. He looked young; far too young for being as tall as he was. The youth stood a good head taller than a vast majority of the crowd streaming around him. his almost startling childish features pressed into a worried frown. He seemed lost, which would explain why he was planted on the edge of the sidewalk so. Bu was he really?
"Excuse me!" he would call out to most pedestrians who passed him in a thickly-accented voice. Was it Swedish? Sounded kind of like it. "Excuse me! I am looking for my father."
Unsurprisingly for New York, few stopped or even bothered to glance his way. A few would pause to attempt to help. Others spat at him to go to the cops. What were the cops? Soldiers? "Excuse me! I am looking for my father. Tall man. Red hair and beard. Excuse me!" He had been at it for nearly an hour now, but still he pressed on, questioning any who would lend him an ear. "Excuse me...!"
There were more than a few tourists standing agape in one of the most famous city locales in the world. Tourists. Always there were tourists here, staring, taking photos, pointing excitedly at the latest advertisement unfurled over a building's side... tourist things, things repeated a hundred thousand throughout the day. No one batted an eye at such people. Why should they? Either the other pedestrians of the square were fellow tourists or locals who saw such scenes replaying like endless summer reruns over and over and over again on television.
Scattered irregularly through the crowds of people were the usual loiterers; peddlers, typically, armed with chintzy tourist goods people would only think of bringing back to their co-workers or someone as equally disliked for a cheap gift, as proof that one had visited New York. The peddlers were not the only ones mingling with the crowd, however. Street performers, be they aspiring artists or homeless people looking for a few quick dollars danced, sang, or performed various other little stunts for brief scatters of passing applause and hopefully a dollar or some change.
Amidst the pressing masses there was a young man. There was nothing outwardly special about him, really. He looked young; far too young for being as tall as he was. The youth stood a good head taller than a vast majority of the crowd streaming around him. his almost startling childish features pressed into a worried frown. He seemed lost, which would explain why he was planted on the edge of the sidewalk so. Bu was he really?
"Excuse me!" he would call out to most pedestrians who passed him in a thickly-accented voice. Was it Swedish? Sounded kind of like it. "Excuse me! I am looking for my father."
Unsurprisingly for New York, few stopped or even bothered to glance his way. A few would pause to attempt to help. Others spat at him to go to the cops. What were the cops? Soldiers? "Excuse me! I am looking for my father. Tall man. Red hair and beard. Excuse me!" He had been at it for nearly an hour now, but still he pressed on, questioning any who would lend him an ear. "Excuse me...!"
