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Apr. 21st, 2006 05:39 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
bohemian_markA man who has had his house broken into only a bare week before should probably not wander around the streets of New York City at night. But then again, Mark's never really worked with 'shoulds' or 'should nots'
In the evening, I've gotta roam, can't sleep in the city of neon and chrome
The city at night is a fascinating study in humanity, with or without a camera lens in front of one's face. For the present, Mark's content to walk, in the same black trench coat, and black clothes he's worn for the past couple days, and observe.
New York City. Centre of the universe.
It's strange, the difference between walking around in a corduroy coat, khakis, and geeky glasses, and striding along the street like he owned the place. Then again, he probably could if he really wanted to.
Find glory, beyond the cheap coloured lights...
By now, the sun's coming up, over the top of the buildings, streaming down onto the street, shining off of the now-opening stores, illuminating the commuters just starting their workdays. Somewhere around twentieth, there's a flower vendor, peddling his wares to people starting their day. One transaction later, Mark's in a cab, a boquet of wildflowers in his lap.
Pan left, close on the steeple of the church.
He used to spend time here, in those few cold months before he made a discovery at the end of the universe. Lying the flowers on a certain gravestone, he's thinking. Quietly thinking, in that peaceful place, where once an argument rang out, an argument that tore a family apart.
I can't believe you're going, I can't believe this family must die.
It's almost noon before he moves, wiping his eyes, and standing, brushing the dirt off of his pants and coat. A short stop at a coffee store later, he's home again, at his desk, writing. He knows what he has to do. Now more than ever.
At least now if you try, Angel's death won't be in vain.
In the evening, I've gotta roam, can't sleep in the city of neon and chrome
The city at night is a fascinating study in humanity, with or without a camera lens in front of one's face. For the present, Mark's content to walk, in the same black trench coat, and black clothes he's worn for the past couple days, and observe.
New York City. Centre of the universe.
It's strange, the difference between walking around in a corduroy coat, khakis, and geeky glasses, and striding along the street like he owned the place. Then again, he probably could if he really wanted to.
Find glory, beyond the cheap coloured lights...
By now, the sun's coming up, over the top of the buildings, streaming down onto the street, shining off of the now-opening stores, illuminating the commuters just starting their workdays. Somewhere around twentieth, there's a flower vendor, peddling his wares to people starting their day. One transaction later, Mark's in a cab, a boquet of wildflowers in his lap.
Pan left, close on the steeple of the church.
He used to spend time here, in those few cold months before he made a discovery at the end of the universe. Lying the flowers on a certain gravestone, he's thinking. Quietly thinking, in that peaceful place, where once an argument rang out, an argument that tore a family apart.
I can't believe you're going, I can't believe this family must die.
It's almost noon before he moves, wiping his eyes, and standing, brushing the dirt off of his pants and coat. A short stop at a coffee store later, he's home again, at his desk, writing. He knows what he has to do. Now more than ever.
At least now if you try, Angel's death won't be in vain.
