Chapter 1

Chapter 1

A Chapter by Ryan Walker

The pedestrians of 5th Avenue are gripped by urgency. The click clack of high heels resonate with the rattle of clenched briefcases. But it is more than just the haste in their step that has Gavin fixated , it is the way they hold themselves. An air of dignity defined by an unwavering steady, forward gaze. As if they have eyes, only for what lay ahead, their current surroundings, unworthy of recognition. 

Gavin pondered over what could possibly possess all of these people to have this same sense of superiority. It is not as if they are of a different culture, well yes they are, but only slightly. In general there is not all that much variation between a Californian and a New Yorker or at least in comparison to complete foreigners, like the Chinese. In China, or any other asian country, he would have expected to see this blank disposition; Confucianism tends to render the victim hopelessly shut down. But he highly doubted that these New Yorkers were waging war with their emotions,  in an attempt to completely smother them, in the name of 'the family's' honor.

Maybe there is such a vast disparity in culture between New York and the rest of the country. But he doubted it. For one, the look these people have, there is no way they maintain even half the hostility they represented now, as they would in any social setting, however in-personal. If not, that meant that every movie and t.v show that took place in New York, was terribly culturally in-accurate . And while the integrity of Hollywood is not all that sound, he could not accept that it is all false, too many of their viewers either live in or have been to New York.

So, if the attitudes of these people are feigned, if this is their "street face" so to speak, then why do they employ it? He had heard that New Yorkers never made eye contact on the streets, because in doing so, one opened the door to bothersome street salesmen. 

'Ah, now it all makes sense' Gavin thought to himself. 'Appear to be so focused and preoccupied, that none of the salesmen bother to stop you. Because naturally, the salesmen know who is a local and who is not, by stride, disposition, and eye contact. And of course, the salesmen's true targets, are the tourists, for the locals obviously have little interest in bus tours or hot deals at Planet Hollywood. And the tourist do a fine job of sticking out because they don't act like they have a ten-foot barb wired pole up their a*s; 

A prime example of a symbiotic relationship there: The salesmen can efficiently conduct business while the locals are allowed to go about, unbothered.  

A slight chuckle left his lips as he leaned back, bringing the cup of hot chocolate to his mouth. Oh the futility of their lives, he mused. Never taking a moment to stop and stare, to examine their world, so focused on their goal, that they miss the beauty of the moment. A harsh assessment for such a brief encounter, but he knew it to be a true one, for it was true for most people. 

To be fair though, he understood where they were coming from, no doubt he would have adopted their ways had he lived here, in fact, he intended to mimic their defensive mask first chance he got. He only arrived in New York yesterday, he had not the time to venture into the tourist areas

Gavin continued to sip on his hot chocolate, siting by himself outside at a particularly good breakfast cafe, until his bald waiter presented him with the check. And after his food was cleared away and his delicious drink taken from him he still sat there. He had time he thought to himself as he peered at the clock on his phone, just a few more minutes with this lovely breeze. 

But he knew he did not have time, he was procrastinating. It was not a desire to relax that held him, it was nerves, which was strange. Gavin was never one to let his fear control him, he controlled it. But he supposed this was different. What are you doing? Don't be pathetic, you've got this s**t, and if you don't well, what do you have to lose? Gavin really did seem to enjoy these ironic third person conversations that he had with himself. It was a small break from the tension, employing his, confusing to some, sense of humor. With a slight laugh and a crooked smile he got up, typed the address into his phone, and proceeded to his final destination. 


© 2013 Ryan Walker


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Added on May 24, 2013
Last Updated on May 24, 2013


Author

Ryan Walker
Ryan Walker

Fort Worth, TX



Writing
Dawah Dawah

A Story by Ryan Walker