Walking

Carl pulled up the collar on his coat; the wind was picking up. But this was was the way he liked it. It was this time of year when he always had some form of inspiration. Simply watching the leaves fall from the trees and hit the ground was a wonderful sight. Not many people were out on the streets now. Everyone was inside getting something to eat; Max was at school. He was on his way to pick up Max; they were going to get something for lunch. Any student was allowed to leave the grounds for lunch. But he still enjoyed a nice lunch but he was going to suprise him. Max always enjoyed surprises like that. He stuffed his hands in his jacket pockets. It was a long black jacket, not leather but more cotton. It was warm and fashionable; underneath he wore jeans and a long sleeved sweater.

He continued down the sidewalk. He would occasionally look into the store windows on the street he was walking on. He could easily apparate; but he felt like enjoying a nice walk. Eventually it would get even worse and would snow. So he figured he ought to get the last bit of "decent" weather in. He was staring in front of him but slightly down. He always thought it was kind of creepy if someone caught you staring at them. Or if they made accidental eye contact. But if it was a pretty woman then things were different. A soft smile and a nod and he'd move on. If they were interested they would stop him; unless he saw someone especially pretty. It's just so hard finding muggle women. He thought he'd try going to an all wizard bar...maybe find a girl in there. But luck wasn't always on his side.

Emmett was sitting in the freezing cold, his cheeks pink, his fingers numb as they strummed the strings on his acoustic guitar, his thin, ratty sweater not really keeping him warm in the least. His black glasses were in his old knapsack, a hunting hat pulled on his head though it did not keep him warm. He had been having trouble finding a spot to crash lately, so he could not leave his spot; he needed the money.

Even the few coins in there were necessary. The musician and columnist gigs did not pay well, and he was a sixteen year old drop out. He needed the money. With a sigh, he began to play the a quick, fast melody to keep his fingers warmed up. He sighed and continued on, his stomach grumbling painfully.