He leaned out the window of his apartment and looked down at the busy New York street below. Despite it being dusk, people milled around on the sidewalk, focused only on the person ahead of them. At this moment, he attention was drawn to the girl leaning against the building with a guitar in hand, singing a slow blues song, nodding each time a by passer dropped change or a dollar into the open case at her feet. Her voice carried up and through the window, lulling him into a daze.
Listening to her sultry voice, he began to feel claustrophobic; he needed to get out there, maybe go to a club. Closing the window, he turned away and picked up his jacket and exiting the sparsely furnished apartment. He was in the Big Apple! For the last month he'd lived here and the farthest he'd been was the grocery store down the street. Tonight, he was going to experience all this city had to offer; he was going to be dangerous and follow his instinct! He was going to follow his spontaneous nature and be like a street performer.
He couldn't believe how stupid he was being. She was right there! He sighed and stirred the glow in the dark straw in his drink; he didn't want to approach the girl with all the people here free to watch. Still, he kept his eyes on her, watching the blonde sitting at a table alone, wishing his could work up enough courage to go talk to her.
She groaned into her drink; the man at the bar was staring at her, and honestly, she was enjoying the attention. With a smirk, she sat her glass on the faux wooden table she occupied. Looking out the corner of her eye, she couldn't help but wish he'd come and talk to her. There had to be some reason men avoided her, but if he wouldn't come to her, she'd go to him.
The following morning, he woke up and stretched, both surprised and confused when his arm hit something next to him, and it wasn't his dog. Shooting straight up in bed, he looked around, realizing that his bedroom walls weren't painted pink, and unless he got really drunk, his bedspread wasn't Hello Kitty. Biting his bottom lip, he glanced at the bed, only to see a tangled mop of blonde hair poking out from the comforter. He clamped his eyes shut; what, or rather who had he done?! Cracking his eye, he picked up the corner of the comforter, finding the musician from last night passed out next to him.
Muttering under his breath, he scrambled out of the bed and frantically scanned the floor for his clothes. Never before had he wanted out of someplace more then now, but he wasn't going anywhere fast if he didn't find his pants. Ruling out the floor he began looking everywhere in the room, finding his clothes in a pile on a chair. As soon as he pulled on his pants, he began his escape; not leaving a note, nor knowing if he was in a house or apartment.
Fifteen minutes later, he took a deep breath of the crisp morning air after escaping what turned out to be a very sprawling apartment complex. Now the only thing he had to figure out was where in New York he was. Hands in pockets, he wandered down the almost empty street until he found a bus stop and sat down to wait, resting his head in his hands. "Why?" he groaned. "Why?"
"It's just human nature." A dirty looking man sitting next to him said.