This post really accurately reflects my "voice".
I have to preface this by saying that everything in the story actually happened to me, exactly the way it is written, during a trip to NYC last year. It's what I made of it that is entirely my own (and won me some enemies).
It was one of those unbelievably sentient moments, where I was exquisitely aware of the evening light, the coolness of the air, the sound of horse hooves on the cobblestones, and the faces of these lovely, strange children in the window overlooking Central Park.
I'm aware that it's a little cruel, but also that it's a little beautiful, no?