A DAY IN THE LIFE

Reposting from a while back...

A nice break from the office routine is a walk a few blocks away to the bank to make a deposit. This afternoon was a balmy 70 degrees and I enjoyed the respite. A glass prison, thirteen floors above life on the sidewalk makes for a dull day.

Since becoming a blogger, I have begun to take notice more of my surroundings. Like a cub reporter on her first assignment, I eagerly file my observations on my mental hard drive to be composed later into a post. Today was fruitful. Approaching a corner, I join a middle-aged gentleman in a low slung wheelchair, completely self-propelled. We smile, exchange hellos, and I get an uncomfortable feeling when I look at a sign that I take for granted and see many times a day: "Don't Walk" in big, orange, lighted letters. I wonder what this fellow must feel when he reads these prophetic words. Does he have a sense of humor and think, " No Shit, Sherlock!" ? Nice looking man with very muscular arms.

Few steps further down the pavement brings me to a corner bakery with small tables for two to encourage Al Fresco dining. Always several people eating here, reading, talking. Today a lone young black dude with a headset on sits singing loudly in a falsetto voice. He has bleached blonde fuzz on the top of his head, and a light, coffee-colored complexion. We make eye contact, I smile and he sings louder. Simon of American Idol would burn him on the spot. I would give him a 10 for effort and for individuality. Must have been for his own pleasure, didn't see a hand-out cup.

At the bank, I wait in line for my turn. I am motioned over by a very young teller with big, baby blue eyes. The voice I am expecting, one of youth and innocence,  is instead very Lauren Bacall-ish;  husky, deep and belies the teller's little girl looks. I am fascinated at the contrast and forget what I am doing.

The walk back to my building is uneventful except for the passing of four gentlemen in business suits walking fast and two abreast, causing me to veer off the sidewalk to avoid a collision. They are all four speaking at the same time, and I wonder who is listening? They never glance my way. I never have the problem of sidewalk territory when the passer-bys are cowboys. Even the urban cowboys display a more Sir Walter Raleigh manner than most other men.

The last note I take is that of a local police officer. A mounted patrol cop on his trusty steed, dressed in blues and a black cowboy hat. The shiny badge is very prominent on his broad chest. I have seen this officer before, the horse is older and blind in one eye. Together they make a quaint photo op for tourists. I often stop to rub the horse on his nose before going on my way.

All too soon, the escalators are carrying me back up into the maw of this glass and steel monster of a building.