Random observations of the variety of humanity that inhabits the downtown regions of Denver, Colorado.
The girl came flying down the street on her bicycle with a grin on her face, as if she knew a special secret. She had long dishwater blonde hair, and was wearing short shorts, a halter top, and angel wings.
A tall thin young man stood ramrod straight, cheeks puffed out as he furiously blew into the black tube protruding from the bagpipes under his left arm. He was dressed in full tartan kit, from the tam atop his noggin to his, well, cowboy boots. A full-sized chromed milk can stood next to him, an optimistic receptacle for tips. The sounds he produced could be heard for blocks.
Wrapped tightly in a thermal blanket, eyes shut hard but with a peaceful countenance, the tiny sleeping girl couldn't have been more than sixteen. It was not yet 6:00 a.m. but the early commuters didn't give her a second glance, curled up on the sidewalk down the street from the four star hotel.
Two men are playing chess on the stone board permanently mounted in the median between the bus lanes. One is dressed in a charcoal gray business suit and has a bluetooth earpiece; the other is wearing a dirty tank top, ragged shorts, and rope sandals to go along with his sombrero. They both have laser focus on the game, seemingly oblivious to the motley group of five men of standing around them with equally rapt attention to their moves.
The bulky middle-aged woman of indeterminate ethnicity, dressed in brightly colored clothes and a matching wide-brimmed straw hat, sat in her wheelchair and scowled while the police officer searched the bag hanging from the back of the chair as if it contained a bomb.