Orange Pants

I am happy to spend days or even weeks wandering around a city, looking at the buildings. Others shop for Prada or line up for tickets to the latest show. I venture down side streets admiring cast-iron facades, elaborate cornices and fanciful terra cotta medallions. In the West Village, I stopped to imagine how this building would look in all its French Vanilla glory once the plywood, temporary walls and concrete barriers disappeared. Down the street came a girl wearing orange pants. Orange stripes, orange pants. How could I resist?