The sparrow flew overhead, circled, dived; a winged roller coaster. It flew to be free, and to take in the world below it. The plaza square, alive with bustling holiday tourists and shuffling natives who grumble under their breath. The park in the center, as it dances with lights, as the trees sway lightly. It was almost dark, but the crowd didn't thin; rather, it only changed. As the older couples and shoppers and gallery entrepreneurs flee to their homes, the winos, the goths, and the "nightstalkers", come out to do what they do best.
The night is filled with spiked hair and alcohol-breath fog from warm lungs. The bar, a couple blocks down, echoes with laughter even as an already sodden fellow is ejected from the establishment by a particularly large bouncer. Heavy with his sorrows, and the near 4th of liquor he's just consumed, he trods home, head sinking between his shoulders.
His wandering leads him from the bar to the plaza. As he stumbles along, he passes in front of the old cathedral, it's benevolent lights glowing through stained-glass windows. He stops and stares, watches with puffs of breath color and dissipate, then trudges on. At the topmost window of the church, Erin watches him.