From The Kiosk, I walked over to Witherspoon Street. Things were different on this street. There was more activity. I stood outside the Princeton Public Library on the corner of Witherspoon Street and Paul Robeson Boulevard, observing this part of the downtown come to life.
Despite the eerie surroundings, people walked confidently, their feet moving along the familiar pavement with a sure-footedness born of frequent repetition. Some walked with purpose, while others meandered slowly, perhaps taking in the strange and mysterious beauty of the fog. As I looked up Witherspoon, the buildings that lined the street disappeared into the mist.
The bicycle rack with the jumbled bicycles looked twisted and mangled like a dead animal's entrails. The metal frame that was once straight and sturdy was now bent out of shape, contorted into grotesque angles that seemed almost unnatural. The scene was made even eerier by the dense fog.
Near the bicycle rack, a man sat, his phone in one hand while he warmed the other inside the pocket of his hoodie. The man seemed lost in another world, engrossed in whatever held his interest in his electronic brick.
