The lights of a city are at their prime at night. Against the dark, they seem to shine brighter, as if a higher voltage light bulb is being used just for the occasion. We all know the truth behind this; they are the same as the daytime. But the contrast between light and dark is so great, that it seems to be more than it is. When many are together, our eyes read them as blending together, making one big picture. They become one, and aren’t individual anymore in our minds. So are the thoughts of the few people that pay attention while walking those streets every night. The regular busy folk don’t notice the difference. These are the corporate America types, the leaders of our everyday world. But those who aren’t busy, and have nothing to be busy for, they know the difference.

So were the thoughts of one girl, one suburbia-raised teenager, taking a quick draw from a cigarette before stamping it out and walking away. Clad in the usual mini skirt and fishnets, combat boots and some rock band t-shirt. A leopard print coat on top, not to keep her warm, but to make a fashion statement. So are the outfit decisions of many young girls. She walks down the street, hands in the pockets of the coat, back to the author of the story she has no idea that she will be the main character of. Stereotyped by many passers-by, as a runaway, a dropout, a scandalous orphan, or a no good dirty prostitute. But what is she really? What is her story? Where does she come from, anyway?

Where was this girl going? And what was she doing out so late at night? Don’t her parents care about where she is? The questions by curious readers might sound like this. And the truth is, this girl could be anyone, could be going anywhere, and her parents could be in another country for all you know. She could be someone you know. She could be someone you love or hate. She could be someone you have never met. She could be someone you only read about in books, or a real person. She could be me. She could be you.

This girl, whoever she may be, probably has many connections. She probably knows many people. She probably doesn’t live with her family. She also probably has friends wherever she is. Once, not too long ago either, she must have been from somewhere, and must have had a large house and a rich, hardworking father who didn’t understand her. She must have had a stay at home mother, who only cared about rumor, fashion, and marrying her daughter off to a wealthy, young gentleman, probably the star baseball player or the quarterback of the football team. Her mother, caught in old times like the 60s, would have no idea of the true identity of her daughter, and what her real wishes and goals in life are.

But that’s only an idea. To make an inference as large as this, we would have to step back a little bit. Maybe a few years even. Anything, to find out who this girl walking down the street, going to meet a few of her friends who were most likely stoned, is. Common sense may tell you that she isn’t supposed to be there, caught up in all the lights of New York City.