There’s a woman in her fifties walking right past me for the second time. She is wearing black pants, a flowery blouse, trendy thick glasses and funky short hair.
There’s a young asian man lying sprawled on a white leather couch, rolling himself over every few minutes, seemingly oblivious to the rest of the world.
There’s a family composed of a big silent woman, a man wearing sandals with almost no hair who has used at least four different languages on his mobile phone in the last half an hour, and three little girls, all of them blond, dressed in pure white and wearing hair bands.
There’s a man in a suit looking bossy, slowly walking in straight lines from one place to the next, sometimes hesitating.
There’s two men in their twenties sitting together and chatting. A taxi pulls over and they stand up. As they walk away one holds the hand of the other. This gives him a glare and shakes his hand free.
There’s a covered black piano and a gurgling fountain. A basketball player. A woman with a kitten.