New York Stories: Times Square

The spaces where you’ve walked fill almost before you’ve left them. It’s like you were never there. You began and ended a thousand times before your foot hit the pavement.

And you are lost.

Lost among these faces, these spaces. Occupied. Relinquished. Somewhere between the steps you gave up. Let the push move you along. Close your eyes and let it push, pull, twist until you meet the center.

Here is where the stars gave their constellations to neon:

Ursa Major–Urban Outfitters


Orion–Office Depot

The streets are scrubbed clean. Rain and time. Mickey Mouse is the corner boy now. Not then, no, not then. Then when rough girls and smooth boys used to call out their specials under marquee lights. I got what you need. I’ll be your wife tonight, baby. Fingers, tongues, lips entwined after Debbie did Dallas and that devil got into Miss Jones.

But you are ok. Because you are in the center. You are lights and sounds. Breath and heat. A mass of bodies tugging at you, becoming you, becoming them. And you have filled the space of someone else. Someone beautiful. Someone kind. Someone who makes her presence known. You have all of the chances in the world to be her. You are just a face, a space. Blinking into the redyellowbluegreen lights. Letting them turn you, blind you, spin you, change you.