Post by LUCIE MADELEINE GRAY. on Jun 25, 2012 22:23:03 GMT -8
You're walking down the street at 4 P.M. on a Friday afternoon. It's the middle of Autumn, nothing special. The sidewalk is silvery, grimy, city-sleek in the sun's lighting, littered with cigarette butts and tossed-aside flyers handed out for some activism campaign at the univerisity. Despite the roughness, though, you can feel an energy around you - a sort of hum in the air, not foreboding, but lyrical. That energy. You look up and survey your surroundings. A man with a voice as scraggly as his beard slams on his guitar strings, wailing out a melody and hoping for some extra change to be tossed into his hat. Just a block down, there are kiosks everywhere. It's a maze of temporary stands for henna tattooing, hair feathers, rainbow-colored beanies and framed photographs for sale. You step aside into a less heavily-populated street, with just a few people roaming around. There's a girl with hair the color of an eggplant. She's an asian girl of about twenty-two, twenty-three, maybe, and she's got two studs on her eyebrow. Walking just behind her is an older lady with grocery bags, adorned in leathery bracelets and a long, flowing skirt that skims her ankles. Surrounding you, innocently and unassumingly, is a bursting jumble of artists and tourists, the rich and the poor, the dark, weighed-down souls, and those travellers absolutely full of life. You've found yourself in this city somehow. One way or another, you're here. Gem or curse: you tell me.
