Who: Donald W. Blackburn and Wolfwood What: A meeting. When: Today. Where: The street.
Donald had spent almost the entire week since his arrival to the city spending more money than he had in his lifetime. It was mostly on ice cream, sweaters that he'd never wear, and flowers for strangers--it always got a smile, or at least usually did. He was now leaning against a newsstand, thumbing through the newest issue of Esquire with no particular meter.
But he wasn't reading--he didn't know how to read. His eyes were hovering over the line of the magazine, watching everyone that passed by. He was lonely--he hadn't held a proper conversation with anyone in days. He was just trying to find someone to talk to.