Beyond the train tracks, at the base of the station stairs, a young man stands in a black t-shirt and black baseball cap and jeans. He holds a flat piece of cardboard that reads "Tryna get a ticket home." I wish him luck, and his dark eyes look grateful.
On the south side of the sidewalk between Park and Madison, against the wall of a building's facade, a girl sits almost every day. She sits, legs outstretched, in a black hoodie that covers her face, and she sits amongst sheets of white paper that lie flat with no space between them, displaying sketches created from black ink and occasionally colors, and she sits almost every day with a piece of cardboard on her lap and a fresh sheet of paper on that, and she draws, and I never see her face.
As I turn south onto Madison, the sun shines toward me and up the street, between the buildings. A middle-aged man stands outside a glass door that he holds open with his left hand, which is also holding a bottle of blue liquid, and with his right hand, he moves a rag back and forth along the glass, and with pride, he wears a uniform - a red jacket with gold trim - and he smiles in the morning sun as he cleans.
In the lobby of the building where on the fourteenth floor I often sit at a desk, a mirror runs along the wall across from the elevators. There, a young woman stands, peering at her reflection, and with her fingers, she adjusts her short dark hair - the bangs of which are pinned to the top of her head. Below her black skirt and black tights, she wears black sneakers with a white Nike swoosh, and as she pulls a small canvas drawstrung bag from her purse, I understand what's inside. When the elevator arrives, we board, her sneakers come off, and her heels from inside the bag go on.
In the elevator's corner stands another woman. Her brown hair falls casually below her shoulders, and the skin around her brown eyes is wet, and I remember the sun shining outside and dismiss the possibility of rain, and as we reach the fourteenth floor, I look her in the eyes and say, "have a good day."
With both hands, she holds her purses' s straps tightly against her shoulder, and as she replies, she chokes slightly, "thanks, you too."