Die Writing

On the streets 6

Posted in Uncategorized by erdaron on April 27, 2015

The vast convention center is filled with people in suits, either walking fast and with a purpose, or congregating in small groups, busy with intense conversations. The midday sun floods through the enormous glass walls. A middle-aged Asian man stands off to a side, alone. The coat of his sharply tailored black suit is unbuttoned, and it flares open. He stands straight, calm and resolute in his bearing, eyes clear and focused in a distance. He feels strong, lithe, alert. With one hand in a pocket, his casual figure has the danger and aloofness of Hong Kong action shooter.

Instead of a gun, the man is holding a muffin.


It’s one of the first warm days of the year. The sun, unobstructed by clouds, is beating down on the dancers filling Dupont Circle. While the DJ is pushing out swing over the speakers, the dancers twirl and jump on the hot pavement. Musicians are setting up their equipment, lugging heavy amplifiers. A man approaches them to speak with them, though his words are concealed by the distance and the noise.

He is wearing a black leather jacket over a black tshirt. His sweat-soaked jet-black hair streaks across the pale forehead. A pair of curved mirrored aviators covers his eyes. The man stands with his hands on his hips, head cocked back, baked with the heat. He goes on for a short while – with the musicians not paying him much attention – then disappears.