The slush on Broadway ruins my suede pumas, but the light hitting that girl’s neon pink leg warmers is def worth the shot. I frame her stride against a wall of static-heavy radios, focusing on the way her oversized sweatshirt hangs as she dodges a yellow cab's screeching tires.
That synthesized opening crunch of "Owner of a Lonely Heart" blasts from a passing boombox, drowning out the roar of the winter wind. I click the shutter just as the beat drops, capturing the grit of the city through a haze of exhaust and high-treble pop.
Memories from that day
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