I walked the block. Right to the crosswalk. Right to TGI Friday’s. Right to the man who sells The Contributor. Right back towards the fountain. And right to the front door. I only wanted to see so I turned up the volume on my iPod.
There were students everywhere, crossing from the University to their apartment. Wearing back packs. Either blabbing on their cell phones or to their partner. Never walking quiet and alone. Perhaps texting.
Groups of sorority girls or fraternity boys cut through the parking lot with their cases of beer in high high heels and short dresses, laughing and swaying.
Waiting at the corner was a man in a suit. With a briefcase. He carefully waited for the light to change, for the walking man to appear. He took long strides to the parking garage behind Friday’s. Going home. Taking work home.
Those sitting at the bus stop held Arby’s cups and their fare cards. Some stand, some sit. Most are quiet, worn from a long day. They wear jeans and t-shirts, few with blue collared shirts and emblems. One man has a cane and stares at the ground. The bus arrives and they all file on to greet neighbors and people they ride with every day. The bus driver is always the same.
The man with his newspapers leans against the light pole, waiting for the light to fill his street side with cars. He smiles as he walks, limps a bit, says nothing. A few hands gesture him to their windows. He shakes their hands and takes their money. It is a good day. He gathers his satchel and winter coat from the brick wall and gets on the bus with the others.
The street by the church is silent, then raucous by the corner bar. Men and women sit out on the patio. It is mild and they are warmed by their beers and a winning game. I smell the cigarette smoke as I pass the front door.
I type in my code and hold the door for a guy with his groceries. Girls stand waiting for taxis. I enter the cool lobby. No mail. I avoid the elevator and climb the three flights tomy apartment. No one out on my floor tonight. I can hear music playing from the end of the hall and people on the deck. The windows are open.
There were students everywhere, crossing from the University to their apartment. Wearing back packs. Either blabbing on their cell phones or to their partner. Never walking quiet and alone. Perhaps texting.
Groups of sorority girls or fraternity boys cut through the parking lot with their cases of beer in high high heels and short dresses, laughing and swaying.
Waiting at the corner was a man in a suit. With a briefcase. He carefully waited for the light to change, for the walking man to appear. He took long strides to the parking garage behind Friday’s. Going home. Taking work home.
Those sitting at the bus stop held Arby’s cups and their fare cards. Some stand, some sit. Most are quiet, worn from a long day. They wear jeans and t-shirts, few with blue collared shirts and emblems. One man has a cane and stares at the ground. The bus arrives and they all file on to greet neighbors and people they ride with every day. The bus driver is always the same.
The man with his newspapers leans against the light pole, waiting for the light to fill his street side with cars. He smiles as he walks, limps a bit, says nothing. A few hands gesture him to their windows. He shakes their hands and takes their money. It is a good day. He gathers his satchel and winter coat from the brick wall and gets on the bus with the others.
The street by the church is silent, then raucous by the corner bar. Men and women sit out on the patio. It is mild and they are warmed by their beers and a winning game. I smell the cigarette smoke as I pass the front door.
I type in my code and hold the door for a guy with his groceries. Girls stand waiting for taxis. I enter the cool lobby. No mail. I avoid the elevator and climb the three flights tomy apartment. No one out on my floor tonight. I can hear music playing from the end of the hall and people on the deck. The windows are open.
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