Important: This story came to me after seeing a picture on the Facebook page 'Humans of New York', then I saw another which fitted the idea, and another... etc. Some quotes throughout this story came from that page. The photographer, Brandon, owns HONY and the anonymous people he meets own their stories. I'm just making a story out of them.

These are fairly short chapters, unless stated otherwise.

1

I sit, and I listen. Observe.

I take in the various sights, smells, and noises. The artist inside me takes the tiniest sound and filters it into one giant image. The biggest canvas painting. At 5am, the city that never sleeps takes a well-earned nap; but there is always something to witness.

Birds chirp happily in the trees around me, a street cleaner is hard at work somewhere to my left. Or maybe it's my right? A sound could come from one direction, but it could seem like it came from many. That is what amazes me. I could make out the light hum of the engine, the periodic beeping, and the brushing of hard bristles sweeping against a concrete sidewalk.

A siren announces an emergency in the distance. One thing I noticed after moving here was how often you heard a siren - 24 hours a day, you can nearly always hear that chilling noise. That scares me; the number of emergencies, the people in danger. And the number of car horns? Word of advice - unless you know what you are doing, don't drive here. Just walk, or use public transport. Save your sanity for later.

I continued to watch until the time on my phone came to 5:43. It took me exactly nine minutes to walk to work from here, and an extra three minutes to hang my stuff up in the staff room and don my work attire. With my sketchpad and pencils back in my messenger bag, I slung the worn out strap over my head and started on the brief journey. With one ear bud nestled in my right ear, Stevie Nicks accompanied me on my walk. Edge of Seventeen, held the beat that I needed for that time in the morning.

I work at Tea for Two; a British inspired cafe on the corner of East 66th. Alice Brandon opened the cafe seven months ago, shortly after graduating with a degree in Business Studies. Three months ago, I arrived in the city to get away and start a-new and Alice practically hired me on the spot.

0-0

He arrived again, at the same time that he always does. 1:45. Not a minute earlier, not a minute later. A steady line of people stood between him and the counter, so I took the chance to sneak a look. His hair, as usual, had been messed up in an agitated state. The sunbeams that streamed through the window helped highlight the fiery gold and russet brown of his hair. As he progressed closer, I noticed the rings under his eyes. From a lack of sleep? Stress? I couldn't tell.

"Same as normal, Edward?" Alice called from beside me, already reaching for a to-go cup.

The man in question (Edward, apparently) looked up at Alice, smiled slightly with a nod, then continued ignoring the world.

I served my customers, all whilst listening in on Alice and Edward's conversation.

"How is everything going?" She asked, frothing up the milk for his coffee.

"I'm surviving." He sounded so lost. So broken.

"And the girls?"

There was a long pause before he answered, "They are happy. That is all I care about."

"You deserve to be happy too, y'know."

"Yeah, well with things the way they are, I can't afford that right now."

That was the most I had ever heard him say, and I wanted to hear more, but as soon as Alice had passed him the cup and some loose change had been flung onto the counter top, he was away. Making a beeline for the exit like he was in a rush to get somewhere... or get away from here. He always did that - he never started a conversation and never stayed longer than he had to.

0-0

My shift finished at 3; another co-worker arrived to take over. It takes exactly seventeen minutes to walk back home (sometimes nineteen if my energy is lacking). I collect any mail from my pigeon hole then head up the two flights of stairs before reaching my door. Layla is at my feet before I enter the apartment. I dropped off my stuff, changed into some different clothes, grabbed my camera and Layla's leash and left the house again.

Everyday Layla wears a new outfit. Today she was in a tiny pink sweater.

I don't walk in any particular direction, I follow the streets and see where I end up. I snap a picture of anything I see - a leaking hydrant, street signs, kids playing in a basketball court. Anything that I find inspirational, I capture.

This time of day is mostly for Layla, so that she can get some decent exercise in. I aim to take her on three walks a day, the afternoon walk being the longest and most beneficial.

Yet, however much this walk is for her, you can never get away from art and inspiration, so I always bring my camera with me, just incase.

When we arrive back, the time had reached 5:07pm. Layla found a toy to play with and I filled a pan with water to cook some pasta for my dinner. As the pasta boiled, I transferred the pictures from my camera to my laptop.

That evening I lit one of my many Yankee Candles (I went for Pink Dragon Fruit to include sweet relaxation into the room) and turned my music up high before I got to work on my canvas. My music for the night came from Newton Faulkner; his smooth voice and acoustic notes added serenity into my work. Yet no matter how much I tried to focus, there was still too much getting lost between my head and the page.

I was focused on the fiery gold and russet brown hair, the look of shame on a worn out face, and the silent hope for a better, more improved tomorrow.

0-0

So... yes? No? Please let me know what you thought and whether or not you'd be interested in reading more.

Don't forget to join to my Facebook group 'RosieRathbone FanFiction' for pictures of the story and more information.