fritz The tilted sidewalk was iced over, the previous night’s snow beginning to melt. The treads of his work boots, despite being caked in oil and grease, gave a steady foothold, and he was able to observe the city, instead of watching his step. People ran to catch the bus, to catch the subway, to get inside from the cold morning. Shopkeepers tended to their wares, hanging carcasses in windows, laying out diamonds, setting new rice pastries on trays. A messenger running a package from a fish market. This was the heart of Chinatown.

And none of them once looked up.
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