Living Manhattan.
Gerard.
He paused and gazed up at the familiar sight of the New York skyline, glittering in the soft, evening rain. The Empire State, the Chrysler, Woolworth's. All gleaming like the stars above them, lighting up the dark night sky.
He averted his gaze to the left then to the right, up to the stars and down 72nd, all sparkling with lights that looked like big, bright dots. He felt a warm glow spread throughout his body like an adrenaline rush, but it was a calming, soothing, glow, that told him he'd never be alone in this amazing city.
He shoved his hands, stained with the coldness of the evening air, into his coat pockets and continued walking. His footsteps made loud tap-tap-tap noises that echoed into the empty streets, which surprised him. When was the last time he had been able to walk on a street without hearing someone's voice - seeing a complete stranger pass by?
It's the cold, he told himself. Everyone in Manhattan has decided to stay at home and make themselves warm glasses of cocoa while he still had to go by the same daily routine. But he wasn't complaining. He loved what he did, working at the New York Times. In a way, going to work, walking around New York to capture news stories and rushing back to that towering NYT building, just to make sure they got printed in time, it was all part of a daily routine. But at the same time, you never knew what to expect. A murder? A burning building? A huge, celebrity party?
A gust of wind ran past him, chilling enough for goose bumps to start prickling up in his skin. It danced around him, lightly messing his hair, then continued on down New York. Gerard looked up at the sky, he knew. There would be snow tomorrow.
Gerard fumbled with the zipper on his coat, his hands frantically pulling at it until it finally gave in and allowed itself to be pulled up. He sighed with relief, his breath making small clouds in the crisp air.
He quickened his pace, the light showers were getting stronger. He sometimes wondered why he never took the taxi back home, or why he barely used the subway, despite the fact that he would usually be dismissed from his office at midnight.
It's because New York is just that much more magical when you're not distracted by the small TVs playing in taxis, or the monotone electronic voices that played over and over on the subway, he told himself.
Sometimes he felt as though he knew these streets a little too well. He knew each corner and alleyway and what color the building three houses down was painted: a faded maroon. And here he was. Apartment building A, 74th Street.
He fished around his pockets for his keys, Aha! There they were. Unlocking the familiar apartment door, he shivered. As soon as the door opened, an inviting warm gust of air rushed towards him, and he welcomed it with delight. Thank God for heaters.
He closed the door gently behind him, put his keys back in his pocket and slid quietly into the silent building. By that time, snow was softly falling over the asphalt, blanketing it with a fluffy white.
He averted his gaze to the left then to the right, up to the stars and down 72nd, all sparkling with lights that looked like big, bright dots. He felt a warm glow spread throughout his body like an adrenaline rush, but it was a calming, soothing, glow, that told him he'd never be alone in this amazing city.
He shoved his hands, stained with the coldness of the evening air, into his coat pockets and continued walking. His footsteps made loud tap-tap-tap noises that echoed into the empty streets, which surprised him. When was the last time he had been able to walk on a street without hearing someone's voice - seeing a complete stranger pass by?
It's the cold, he told himself. Everyone in Manhattan has decided to stay at home and make themselves warm glasses of cocoa while he still had to go by the same daily routine. But he wasn't complaining. He loved what he did, working at the New York Times. In a way, going to work, walking around New York to capture news stories and rushing back to that towering NYT building, just to make sure they got printed in time, it was all part of a daily routine. But at the same time, you never knew what to expect. A murder? A burning building? A huge, celebrity party?
A gust of wind ran past him, chilling enough for goose bumps to start prickling up in his skin. It danced around him, lightly messing his hair, then continued on down New York. Gerard looked up at the sky, he knew. There would be snow tomorrow.
Gerard fumbled with the zipper on his coat, his hands frantically pulling at it until it finally gave in and allowed itself to be pulled up. He sighed with relief, his breath making small clouds in the crisp air.
He quickened his pace, the light showers were getting stronger. He sometimes wondered why he never took the taxi back home, or why he barely used the subway, despite the fact that he would usually be dismissed from his office at midnight.
It's because New York is just that much more magical when you're not distracted by the small TVs playing in taxis, or the monotone electronic voices that played over and over on the subway, he told himself.
Sometimes he felt as though he knew these streets a little too well. He knew each corner and alleyway and what color the building three houses down was painted: a faded maroon. And here he was. Apartment building A, 74th Street.
He fished around his pockets for his keys, Aha! There they were. Unlocking the familiar apartment door, he shivered. As soon as the door opened, an inviting warm gust of air rushed towards him, and he welcomed it with delight. Thank God for heaters.
He closed the door gently behind him, put his keys back in his pocket and slid quietly into the silent building. By that time, snow was softly falling over the asphalt, blanketing it with a fluffy white.