Smartly dressed in navy-blue suit, white shirt, patterned tie, polished black shoes and leather gloves, Calvin made his way home from Goldman Sachs’ Wall Street office.  With the Wall Street Journal rolled up under his right arm, clutching a blue-canopied umbrella in his left glove, he stepped over the sidewalk kerb and stopped outside an ATM cash dispenser.

The thunderstorm had eased the early July humidity and the air smelt of a mix of fresh ozone and newly made bagels from the second-floor bakery.  Granite-faced tower blocks loomed on both sides of the narrow alley, further blocking the already-restricted light, leaden skies still pouring down heavy, sticky raindrops.

At Calvin’s feet lay a discarded, white polythene bag, surrounded by scraps of leftover fast food.  The near kerb, painted red, denoted restricted parking as a grey Ford Buick ahead, lights blazing electric-yellow, made a fresh-produce delivery outside an Italian restaurant. 

Otherwise, the alley was quiet except for a middle-aged man walking towards Time Square, grey raincoat, hunched shoulders, black umbrella enhancing the sombre atmosphere.  Sodium-neon lights illuminated the scene, despite it being early summer and only 5-15 in the afternoon.  Calvin checked his appearance reflected in the shop window, headed for the subway entrance and prepared for his dinner date with Samantha in the Upper West Side.