"It's from that gay-ass T.V. show friends." Flicking his sunglasses up onto the top of his head, commencing the journey with a jauntier stride, raking through the black-rimmed glasses and business casual drones. The sea of trying to be somebody's. It was his sincerest hope that one of those tourists went on believing that they'd seen somebody oh-so-important on their phone today, possibly discussing a hidden secret of the universe, or turning over a dialectic on how to cage a rainbow.
There were some benches in front of it, people eating lunch, but beyond it was the promise of the stage fronts. They hit a fake, very accurate looking Brooklyn front that's impressiveness was unfortunately shattered by the door slightly left ajar, which revealed the vacant inwards and wooden ennui.
"You see that fake theatre? It's a real one. We get to see movies the weekend before they come out sometimes."