An excerpt of my writing

I’ve just been trying to get an idea for a fictional piece of writing and I was simply messing around with some ideas. Anyways, here’s a little something I’ve come up with so far. Mind you, I don’t consider particularly polished, just trying to get ideas down.

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The rapidly moving crowd seemed like little more then an afterthought in the whole of the scene’s décor. Rather, the unique visual scheme of the beautiful, illustrious sky seemed to be the fundamental attribute of the arrangement. To that – the sky – Adam Jacobs directed his attention always, hardly taking into account the others who bustled about him.

The sky was populated with but a few light and wispy clouds. It was not a true blue though, not perfect from a typical standpoint, but instead a grey interwoven with strands of pale blue. Each strand like a length of thread ripped from a spool or a note in a composition not held quite long enough, but it was beyond adequacy nonetheless. It was perfection that could appeal to a sense of realism.

Adam accepted realism. He lived in a world where dreams could ruin a man and goals played but a small part in accomplishment, and yet he still kept his head in the sky each day and every day.

He held tightly to his side a leather messenger bag, and adorning his body was a noticeably bland outfit. On his head sat a black bowler’s hat which he frequently adjusted. His face: rather hard to describe, though not due to an issue of nondescript. His walk was lacking in grace, but not awkward by any measure

Looking down from the fractured perfection of the sky, Adam fished his cell phone from his pocket in order to determine the time. The hinge of the phone swung open easily, for it had seen much use, and the time revealed itself to be two o’clock.

Time to get some work done, Adam thought to himself. He pulled his bulk out of the crowd that cluttered the sidewalk. Ahead and to the right was a narrow alleyway, the entrance of which was marked by a worn and diminutive sign. The sign depicted a hot mug of coffee, and faded letters below it spelled out “Black Cat Coffeehouse.”

Adam maneuvered himself into the alley. The sides were made of old brick and foul colored liquid slowly trickled down them. The sky, yielding to its sense of realism, determined that it would not even be worth attempting to illuminate the alleyway.

Pleasant, Adam thought without a trace of sarcasm.

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My writer,