Jeff Zander Informal Writing #1

Informal Writing #1

I walked alone on the street one Saturday night, the city aglow with city lights and city sounds. As I passed by a moderately old building with red and tan stone, I saw a light flicker on from behind a red curtain. This curtain was just an everyday curtain; it had swirls and swooshes going across in a pattern. But, what captured my attention was the silhouette of the girl behind that curtain. She had a shy look about her, with long hair pulled up in a bun and an almost ghostly movement as she walked in and out of the window. I could almost imagine how she would walk out of her house each morning, look up into the sky and think, “Here we go again”.

I kept walking and started contemplating where I was going. I passed a news stand and almost ran into a small Asian man. He had on plain, uniform-like clothes and an expression on his face that could’ve frozen fire. It’s almost like he wanted to blend in with the news stand and just disappear. I said my apologies and started a conversation with the man. He said that he and his family were immigrants from an Asian Provence that I could not pronounce and that he was working a hard job for small pay to ensure that his daughter of 5 years old could get an education someday. I gave the man my card and told him to call me if ever he needed help with anything. I kept walking and kept on wondering.

As I turned the corner, I came across a small bar named Puzzles. It was a newer looking bar with a cool, collected ambiance but, it still had that everyone’s welcome attitude. I walked in and hung up my coat, sat down at the bar, and ordered a drink. When I turned around, I caught a few eyes looking at me from across the room but, one set of eyes made me stop and look. The girl was sitting on a couch in the back, she was sitting on her feet with an expression like none I’ve ever seen before in a place like this. She was mid-twenties, and looked like she was from the part of the world where things don’t get better. She had a spectacular white dress on and what looked like tear stains on her face. The dress looked untouched and it only had wrinkles from being laid down in. I thought about walking over to talk to her but thought better of it when my drink came. A few minutes later, my phone rang and a rough voice on the other end said in a low tone “its here”. That being my cue to leave, I finished my drink, grabbed my coat and walked out into the cool city night.