Today my phone died.

Right foot. Left foot. Both are flat on the pavement. My knees are bent, supporting my book as I write. I've taken off my sunglasses, to see a little clearer- I really need a case for those glasses. The sky is pale grey, almost white, no clouds, no sun.

To my right I can hear the drums and the ringing of bells, they remind me of my primary school lunch bell. It's music. The soundtrack. In the distance sirens sound, a plea to the New York rush hour drivers to move, as if they can. A young man strums his guitar, I always wanted to learn. Silence echoes from the chess players. The girl behind me is planning to move out, her room mate is too loud.

A young girl, maybe 21, bright barbie pink hair is in deep conversation with her cross legged friend. I wonder what about.

A shadow covers my book. Above me stands a black man, in a wedding dress. I blink several times, attempting to take it in. "You write sloppy!" he proclaims, and the laughter around me confirms that not only I heard this. I close my book, realising that he may start reading aloud my descriptions of those around me, barbie pink hair might hear.

"What are you writing? Writing to yourself?!" he snaps.

"Yes...", I smile politely, as if I am the one intruding on him. Is he going to leave? Or will it be me who leaves. I wait patiently.

A woman snaps his picture. "Hey! Come back here! You give me a dollar right now!", he's angry. He leaves my side, he has more important things to do. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean too", but she so did. "This is why I'm not a model!" he really doesn't like his picture being taken, a model would surely be a bad career choice.

I decide to move.

With perspective now on my side, I see he has a white suit shirt and vest with a white silky tie. A long flowing lacy floor length skirt, just like a princess. His neck is covered by a large silk scarf, almost like a tutu. His head holds the white top hat. A silver peace sign necklace hangs on his chest, large goggles cover his eyes. His right hand grasps a large hessian sack, its beautiful. Flowers are woven around the middle. His left hand grips a white plastic bag, looks heavy.

He's screaming now, almost erratic. Between the screams appear short bursts of conversations with the  strangers sitting at his feet. He asks the man what he is reading, impatient he grabs the book to see for himself.

A boy snaps his picture. Barely 15 years old. "HEY!" he saw it, he runs. The boys begins to laugh and runs, looking back as if to check that this is actually happening. The man stops and then stumbles backwards, falling several steps to the ground. Confused and disoriented. No body helps. The boy sees his opportunity and takes it, *click click*, closer this time.

It's Union Square, New York city and the cherry blossoms are floating through the air, falling softy like snow flakes. There is a woman laying asleep to my left, I wonder what she is dreaming. Her backpack supports her head as the pavement supports her body. Folded arms are positioned protectively in front of her stomach. The green beer can catches the light.

Six teenagers, standing in a line. So tall, yet no older than 16. The boy now stands between them, he isn't scared anymore. They taunt the man, smiling and laughing. The young boy walks closer, a little cocky, strength in his voice "what did you say old man?". His friends are only steps away, he feels tough. Shoulders arched.

Others read on, obliviously or seemingly oblivious. Some pause, listening and watching, intrigued perhaps or maybe amused. I've moved a little further, sitting on a bench. I take out a shortbread biscuit, I love shortbread. I uncross my legs, I don't want spider veins.

She twists her ring, as if it's hurting her. She's reciting words from a handwritten note. It's a long note, more like a letter, perhaps one she wrote, or received.

Surely it's too cold for shorts, people are wearing shorts.

The man is now dancing. Slow dancing, is it to the drums? I wonder... where is his family? His friends?

I reach into my bag to check my phone, greeted by the black screen I remember it died. I would have usually had my head phones in, music playing, eyes and brain locked onto that screen.

Instead I watched and listened to the real world around me. I can't share any pictures, because I didn't take any.

His skirt was really very beautiful.