i love new york city. i love the randomness of the people, the fully loaded starbucks on every corner, the feeling of helplessness you get when you stop in the middle of a pedestrian flow and look around at the nameless people living their lives, when you look up at the towering skyscrapers. i love writing stories about the people i see; the girlschattering excitedly as they file into the american girl place, the boys lurking behind their girlfriends, rolling their eyes as their dragged into yet another store, the small, non-american determined to give you the best price for a cap or a scarf, the little people who stand on corners and advertise for lancome's new special at sephora, or a mens' clothing store's entry around the corner.
last week i was grumbling about the rain, when someone told me i should "go take a walk in the rain" when i'm not in a rush. i did that this friday. i walked fourteen blocks to a photo gallery to write a paper for school. i got lost, practically ended up on the west side highway, and called my dad to see if i should be worried about where i was. but when he told me i shouldn't be there alone, i couldn't even be scared. becuase i was fascinated. i was writing stories. abou the sanitation department worker, the three italian business men hanging out on the corner. i never had an hour to kill in that part of the city before, and i wanted to take it all in