Crossroads of the World (Photo credit: iwillbehomesoon)

There was rhythm in his steps as he walked across the square. He stopped at the zebra crossing, waiting, tipping his head to one side as if listening for the tune he had been stepping out with his feet. Perhaps he found it in the milling of the crowd around him. With a smile, he took a deep breath as if there were no sweeter perfume than the symphony of car exhaust and hot dogs from the corner.

If it had been a musical, this would be where he burst into song and all the people in the square would accompany him with their choreography.

But it was not a musical, so he crossed the road, the city swallowed him and I never heard his song.