Around noon, Alex went to the auction house to gather some information. By the time he returned, it was already four in the afternoon. Passing by the bar district in Tribeca, he decided to stop for a while. He was in a relatively good mood, and there wasn't anything pressing waiting for him back at the apartment, so why not indulge in a little people-watching?
Tribeca was known for its vibrant nightlife, with a high concentration of bars and clubs catering to a diverse clientele. It was the perfect place to unwind, to observe the city's colorful characters, and perhaps, to enjoy a fleeting moment of peace in the midst of the urban jungle.
He chose a table under a leafy awning, ordered a light snack and a refreshing drink, and settled in to observe the passing parade of humanity.
*Not bad,* Alex thought, his gaze sweeping over the fashionable crowd. "Not bad" in Alex's vocabulary usually meant a high concentration of beautiful women. He knew that as the evening progressed, this place would transform into a veritable ocean of beauty, though admittedly, a significant portion of that ocean would consist of "working girls." Still, Tribeca's nightlife offered a unique blend of glamour, grit, and diversity. You could find anything here, from high-powered executives to struggling artists, from aspiring models to seasoned socialites. And occasionally, you might even spot a celebrity or two.
Another notable feature of Tribeca's nightlife was the significant presence of foreigners. And where there were foreigners, there were foreign women. And where there were foreign women… well, let's just say Alex's people-watching activities often took on a decidedly international flavor.
Why so many foreigners in Tribeca? Well, for one, it was a trendy, upscale neighborhood with a vibrant arts scene. It attracted a diverse mix of residents and visitors from all over the world.
As Tribeca's reputation grew, the bar scene had evolved, attracting not just expats and tourists, but also a growing number of locals. The clientele had expanded from the early adopters—mostly Wall Street types and young professionals—to include artists, musicians, actors, and anyone looking for a taste of Manhattan's vibrant nightlife.
What brought them—or rather, *her*—here? If you didn't know the answer to that question, you were clearly out of touch. What was the latest trend? What was everyone talking about?
"Have you found your inner peace yet? Have you embraced the minimalist lifestyle? Have you discovered the joys of organic kale smoothies?" If not, you were clearly living in the dark ages.
Women, of course, were always ahead of the curve, so they had their own set of trendy greetings.
"Have you found your soulmate on Tinder? Have you mastered the art of the perfect selfie? Have you finally invested in that Birkin bag?" If not, you were clearly lagging behind.
It had to be admitted, though, that foreign men were still a hot commodity in Manhattan, just like… well, let's just say they were in high demand. A foreign passport, especially one from a Western European country, was like a golden ticket to a better life, at least in the minds of some women. Even marrying a struggling artist or a penniless musician seemed preferable to staying in their own country, especially if it meant access to Manhattan's glamorous lifestyle.
In recent years, attitudes had shifted, and what was once considered taboo was now openly discussed. The allure of a tall, handsome foreigner, often portrayed in movies and TV shows as romantic and sophisticated, was undeniable. And so, some women went to great lengths to… well, let's just say they were determined to find their own international romance.
"Bzzz..." The vibration of his phone startled Alex out of his reverie.
"Who is it?" he muttered, annoyed at the interruption. He'd been just about to strike up a conversation with a particularly intriguing brunette.
"It's me, Grace! What, do you have a problem with me?" Grace's voice crackled through the phone, a hint of playful annoyance in her tone.
"No, no, of course not! How could I possibly have a problem with you, my dear Grace?" Alex replied, glancing around to make sure there were no beautiful women within earshot. He needed to maintain his image, after all.
"Where are you? Why have you been gone all day?" Grace demanded.
"I went to the auction house to check on some things. I'm grabbing a bite to eat now. I haven't had lunch yet," Alex said, taking a bite of his snack.
"Well, hurry up and finish. Do you know what time it is? It's almost closing time!"
Alex checked his watch. It was almost five o'clock. He'd been lost in his people-watching for over an hour without realizing it.
"So, what did you call me for?" he asked.
"Just wanted to let you know that I have plans tonight, so I won't be joining you for dinner. But you better get back to the office soon. Emma Winter is waiting for you."
"Who's the unfortunate victim of your charms tonight?" Alex asked, a hint of amusement in his voice.
"Alex! Can't you ever say anything nice?" Grace protested, her voice rising in pitch.
"Alright, alright. I wish you a successful date, a quick engagement, a speedy wedding, a blissful marriage, a house full of children, and a long and happy life together. Better?"
"Much better. Now, if you weren't about to die a horrible death tonight, I'd say more, but you need to hurry back to the office."
"Got it, got it," Alex said impatiently, hanging up the phone.
He paid his bill and was about to head back to the office when a taxi pulled up beside him. A man emerged, gesticulating wildly at the driver while babbling incoherently, waving a fifty-dollar bill in his face.
"Get outta here! I ain't takin' your fare!" the driver yelled, clearly annoyed.
*A tourist,* Alex thought, rolling his eyes.
He stepped forward, gently nudged the confused tourist aside, and slid into the passenger seat, closing the door behind him.
"Financial District, please," he said to the driver.
"You got it!" the driver replied, pulling away from the curb, leaving the bewildered tourist standing on the sidewalk, still waving his fifty.
Alex stuck his head out the window, offering the universal gesture of goodwill—a raised middle finger—to the bewildered tourist.
"Driver, I have to say, it's refreshing to see someone with a backbone these days. Standing up to those entitled tourists… it's a rare quality," Alex commented, turning back to face the front.
"That guy was a real jerk. Waving a fifty in my face like I've never seen money before. He kept saying, 'Have you seen this? Have you seen this?' So I pulled out a hundred and asked him, 'Have *you* seen this, buddy?' He just kept babbling, so I told him to get lost," the driver explained, still fuming.
"Yeah, some people just have no respect. Waving a fifty like it's a king's ransom. 'Have you seen this?' What an idiot. I bet he was trying to get to… wait a minute…" Alex paused, a sudden thought striking him. He turned to the driver. "Was he maybe saying 'Grand Central'?"
"Grand Central?" The driver looked at him, puzzled, then his eyes widened in realization. "You know what? He might have been!"
The light turned red, and the driver slammed on the brakes, lost in thought as he replayed the encounter in his mind. He and Alex stared at each other, the awkward silence broken only by the honking of impatient drivers behind them.
"Well, I guess I just insulted a… potentially lost tourist," the driver said sheepishly.
"Don't worry about it. Tourists are tourists. He should learn to speak English if he's going to visit New York. 'When in Rome…' you know?" Alex said, trying to reassure him.
"You're right. It's his own fault for not speaking the language. Consider it a lesson learned. So, where are you headed again?" The driver seemed to have recovered from his embarrassment.
"Financial District," Alex replied.
"That's just a few blocks away! Why'd you even bother with a cab?"
"I was still annoyed about that tourist," Alex admitted with a grin.
"Well, consider this ride on me, then. No charge for defending New York's honor," the driver said, returning the smile.
"That's very kind of you, but I insist…"
"Don't be silly. We're both New Yorkers, gotta stick together, right?"
"Right. Forget about those tourists. New Yorkers are the best!" Alex declared.
"Damn right!" the driver agreed, pulling up in front of Alex's office building.