He walked through city streets.
I've always felt like "He walked through city streets" is a great way to start a story. Something about it implies purpose. Perhaps he's walking to get somewhere specific, perhaps he's meandering. Perhaps he's in deep though, or perhaps he's so focused on his goal that he sees nothing else. I always picture the phrase with a bit of blurred motion around my protagonist. The city implies busyness, but he's not aware of it. Or maybe the city itself is what is intriguing.
He walked through city streets on a crisp autumn day. The breeze gently blows his hair with the whispering sounds of red leafed trees watching his every move. His thoughts wander on events earlier in the day. What was it that he was seeking? What did he hope to accomplish?
He walked through city streets, fists clenched in fury. A car screeches to a halt a stride away and honks loudly. He ignores it. A passerby dodges out of his way, stops to say something, but thinks better of it. The crowds seem to split before him, as if his burning aura were enough to spread their bodies. Nothing could stop him now.
He walked through city streets, the rain gently masking the tears building in his eyes. Umbrellaed figures glided past him, barely noticing his presence. He could still remember the moment clearly. It replayed in slow motion whenever he blinked. Every detail, every sound, he could smell the smells. It hard been hard to deal with everything this past year.
He walked through city streets, listening to music on his music player. Who knew the PATH train would be so crowded during the summer. All the Jersey scumbags seem to have crawled out of the woodwork now that the cold season passed. More people to block the sidewalks. More people who stopped for no reason. The walk sign lit up and the masses began moving forward. Here comes another day at work.
He walked through city streets on a crisp autumn day. The breeze gently blows his hair with the whispering sounds of red leafed trees watching his every move. His thoughts wander on events earlier in the day. What was it that he was seeking? What did he hope to accomplish?
He walked through city streets, fists clenched in fury. A car screeches to a halt a stride away and honks loudly. He ignores it. A passerby dodges out of his way, stops to say something, but thinks better of it. The crowds seem to split before him, as if his burning aura were enough to spread their bodies. Nothing could stop him now.
He walked through city streets, the rain gently masking the tears building in his eyes. Umbrellaed figures glided past him, barely noticing his presence. He could still remember the moment clearly. It replayed in slow motion whenever he blinked. Every detail, every sound, he could smell the smells. It hard been hard to deal with everything this past year.
He walked through city streets, listening to music on his music player. Who knew the PATH train would be so crowded during the summer. All the Jersey scumbags seem to have crawled out of the woodwork now that the cold season passed. More people to block the sidewalks. More people who stopped for no reason. The walk sign lit up and the masses began moving forward. Here comes another day at work.

