by LeshaLesha

Created on: October 27, 2009

LIKE LITTLE BITS OF SNOW New York at night was what Ruby loved most. Canal Street, lantern lit and bustling, was filled with people, food and rows of counterfeit purses. In the side streets, green grocers and fishmongers slashed prices as the sky darkened. A man selling pashminas on the side of the road, called out as she walked past, "Hey pretty lady, cold night. Buy a nice scarf. One hundred percent genuine wool." Ruby pulled her coat closer, covering her chest. She could taste the clean, cool crispness of spring on the tip of her tongue. New season, new city, new start. It became her unconscious mantra as she continued walking. Behind her, the man had already moved on to the next pretty lady'. The entrance to Grand Sichuan brought a warm wave of smells: hot eggs rolls and sweet and sour pork. She sat down at a small table by the window, flicking aimlessly through the menu. The laminate was peeling at the edges. A boy around her age came over to take her order. Black hair stuck sweaty, to his forehead and around his ears which protruded out like little satellite dishes. His appearance seemed oddly juxtaposed with the frigid air outside. "Uh, the lemon chicken and fried rice please." The boy nodded, "Fifteen minutes", ripping off a tiny piece of paper and handing it to her. Number twenty four. Across the room a woman was smacking her child, a little boy, who had just tried to put his hand in the fish tank propped up against the back wall. Wailing, he hit her back. A string of indecipherable Mandarin followed. As Ruby ate, she looked out the window and watched as the city smog was eventually swallowed by blackening night. Slowly, people began to trickle out from neighbouring restaurants. While paying for her meal, she picked a fortune cookie from the big bowl on the greasy counter. Breaking it open, she brushed off the crumbs and read, "Don't forget. You are always on my mind." Fingers frozen she fumbled with the paper, shredding it. The pieces fell and scattered. Like little bits of snow, caught on weightless wind. * * * * * The F Train from Forest Hills to Times Square was ten minutes late and the subway station was filled with commuters; trim de-cafs, long blacks, flat whites. Ruby pushed past the cold metal barrier once her metro card had been zapped through. She'd bought a week pass and intended to ride the lines of the Metropolitan Transportation Authority until she had been to every place she'd dreamt of from her mouldy flat in Balmoral. This was Ruby's

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