a streetcorner just steps away from itsuki's shoddy-bricked hole-in-the-wall means that it's packed in the middle of the day, yellow-lit as citizens swarm forth and back from the daily grind. it's a mingle of the city's strangest blood from overalls to shabby suits, some wheeling chrome-gaudy cycles along while others fumble by on foot, clutching at wobbly pyramids of takeout and coffee. it means you get all sorts drifting in from westerley's cross-sections, from children to lumbering pedestrians to salesmen hawking god-knows-what. (keith's shaken off two in the last fifteen minutes alone: veiny, knuckling men with ink-bright eyes and whozits-and-whatsits-galore tucked under their coats. so each claimed, unfastening their topmost button -- and keith'd spun on a heel and torn off in a hurry.)
but a streetcorner means lamp-posts just wide enough for slouching, means gum-patched sidewalks and street-signs. and, unluckiest of all: it means means a light permanently stuck on red, and a stream of vehicles pouring across the road in a torrent begging to amputate the first careless jaywalker. this, ladies and gentlemen, is what comes of not having your own ride.
it explains why keith's eye deigns to swivel from the light (seriously, it's been two minutes) over to. . . a slim, bright-eyed shape in a jacket too good for old town.
. . . ]
Maybe you should try a different street.
[ look, it's very simple math, the kind all the westerley kids learn: streetcorner + illegal sales all around + pretty-looking man + nice hair + complaining about getting too many men among his customers during times of stress = . . . ??? ]
A - day 1!
a streetcorner just steps away from itsuki's shoddy-bricked hole-in-the-wall means that it's packed in the middle of the day, yellow-lit as citizens swarm forth and back from the daily grind. it's a mingle of the city's strangest blood from overalls to shabby suits, some wheeling chrome-gaudy cycles along while others fumble by on foot, clutching at wobbly pyramids of takeout and coffee. it means you get all sorts drifting in from westerley's cross-sections, from children to lumbering pedestrians to salesmen hawking god-knows-what. (keith's shaken off two in the last fifteen minutes alone: veiny, knuckling men with ink-bright eyes and whozits-and-whatsits-galore tucked under their coats. so each claimed, unfastening their topmost button -- and keith'd spun on a heel and torn off in a hurry.)
but a streetcorner means lamp-posts just wide enough for slouching, means gum-patched sidewalks and street-signs. and, unluckiest of all: it means means a light permanently stuck on red, and a stream of vehicles pouring across the road in a torrent begging to amputate the first careless jaywalker. this, ladies and gentlemen, is what comes of not having your own ride.
it explains why keith's eye deigns to swivel from the light (seriously, it's been two minutes) over to. . . a slim, bright-eyed shape in a jacket too good for old town.
. . . ]
Maybe you should try a different street.
[ look, it's very simple math, the kind all the westerley kids learn: streetcorner + illegal sales all around + pretty-looking man + nice hair + complaining about getting too many men among his customers during times of stress = . . . ??? ]