Brooklyn Bridge

I crossed the bridge just before sunset, heading towards Manhattan. The sky was perfect, a glow of reddish-orange, fading through the yellows to white, and and then up to a blue which spread all around. I must have used up about half a roll of film, taking what I hoped would be arty shots of the Statue of Liberty and the Empire State Building, peeking out of the dusk. As I got to the second upright of the bridge, there was a girl sitting there, writing in her notebook. I walked past, and stopped a few yards further on to do the same. I realised how beautiful the girl was, and I made up my mind to go and talk to her. I was so far from home, and had nothing to lose except my self-esteem. The day had been perfect so far, and my mind was full of romance and possibility. I went back to her spot, rehearsing what I could possibly say to her. Something simple - maybe I could ask her if she knew anywhere good to eat near here. My heart was pounding. This wasn't the sort of thing I did. But I was here in New York, and anything could happen. I half hoped she wouldn't be there, to save me from myself. She wouldn't be. I was right. The spot was empty, and night was falling quickly.