The curls of his hair fell past his neck and a green knapsack hung from his shoulders. He plodded up the sidewalk and began to drift towards the curb.
His arm shot out and his fist slammed into the window of the vegetable truck. He paused, then punched the window again. The window did not break.
Nobody was seated in the vehicle. The vegetables and fruits painted on the side of the truck continued to smile. The man pushed the button at the stoplight and waited for his turn to cross the street.
Three men, each in a dark business suit, were walking north. Because they were shoulder to shoulder they occupied the entire width of the sidewalk. One held a cup of steaming coffee; another adjusted the trench coat slung over his arm; the third tucked his new cell phone into his pocket.
A man wearing a reflective vest, carrying a broom, and pulling a rolling trash can was walking south. Upon seeing the three men he began to move away from the center of the sidewalk and towards the building.
The three men approached, their paths straight lines. The man in the vest stopped and pressed himself and his supplies against the building. He looked down. The three men brushed past and looked only straight ahead.
The red dot of the laser pointer appeared on the sidewalk. It wobbled in the shadows, uncertain of where to go. Finding a target, it lurched up and landed on the white jeans of a woman waiting for the traffic light to change.
The red dot quivered as it rested on the woman’s butt, as if it were trying to stifle its own laughter. It clung to her as she crossed the street.