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Times Square


Times Square. July. Hot night.

I sit at the little table and sip Matcha Frappuccino from Starbucks with a long straw. Double amount of whipped cream as always.

Tiny ice crystals crack in my mouth, causing goose bumps on my skin.

I read messages on the phone.

A young guy, looking like Bob Marley at a party, cleans around the tables. He approaches my place and I notice an empty plastic cup under my table so I take it and throw into his trash bag. He grins like the Cheshire Cat.

“Thank you, Madame. The help is very much appreciated.”

We both smile.


Sometimes a little thing can change everything. Even a bad day.



“Stories” are totally real. They happened. They are like pebbles. I throw them ahead hoping the good wave will reach you.

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