Urban Rapture.

There is something awkwardly poetic about the city.
Maybe it was the crowds of people that resembled ants.
Zooming, zipping and rushing on with their busy lives, away to some job, or to accomplish some task. She sat at the window ledge with her forehead pressed against the glass and wondered if there was spontaneity left in the world.
Where were these people going, where did they come from? Her breath condensed on the window.She wanted to know everyone's life story. She wanted to hear their inner most thoughts. She wanted to spend a day in their shoes. She had a need to constantly feel connected to someone, or something.
She stopped to look at a pigeon as it picked up some sort of garbage off the filthy sidewalk. The bird flew away, but her eyes remained glued to the spot it had been. Then, like it had never happened, she continued walking down the street. Her head held high, pointing to the gargoyles at the tops of the towers. People rush past her as the cold winter wind howled.
She walked in her casual steady gait, seemingly unaffected by the frigid weather. She stared at the black spots that used to be someone's chewing gum. She couldn't help but wonder who each piece was left by and if there was a story behind each abandoned piece. She always seemed to find something remarkable about absolutely nothing. The way she could strike up an extended conversation about the still ambience of a room, or the color of the sky. To dwell on such topics some would say, borders insanity, but insanity is best described by those who know it best.