Sitting on a small wooden crate outside the coffee roasters on West 10th Street, in what I call the Corgi District of The Village, I take in the pedestrians on this street, while I make inroads on this everything bagel. There is a couple talking to a cyclist in the road. There is a long-haired man walking around in flip-flops and a shirt with a hole in it. He holds a mug of coffee and a cigarette. His light brown skin, tanning for 60 plus years, is weathered to the point of wizened. He projects an air of impossible wealth.
moral, believing, narrating
moral, believing, narrating
moral, believing, narrating
Sitting on a small wooden crate outside the coffee roasters on West 10th Street, in what I call the Corgi District of The Village, I take in the pedestrians on this street, while I make inroads on this everything bagel. There is a couple talking to a cyclist in the road. There is a long-haired man walking around in flip-flops and a shirt with a hole in it. He holds a mug of coffee and a cigarette. His light brown skin, tanning for 60 plus years, is weathered to the point of wizened. He projects an air of impossible wealth.