It was the third bench just off the far east entrance to the park. Everyday at noon I would make my way there, sketchbook in one hand, and pencils in the other. The summer always provided the best results, when the people were swarming in groups and couples, enjoying the nice weather, I was nothing more then a fly on the wall to them. For hours I would sit there, having my pick of the very best subjects the city had to offer, without the ridiculous modeling charges some people asked.

It was there that I first caught sight of her. I was no older then 19 and she was walking back from god knows where. She had this sort of quiet confidence I had never seen, the way she carried herself proved that better then any words ever could. I wondered to myself what her name was, her story, even where she lived. I knew that she wouldn’t be there long enough for me to get down a proper sketch, but I’ll be damned if I didn’t try.

My eyes darted between the page and the girl, wishing she would stay just a moment longer.