Source: http://fictionwriting.about.com/od/writingexercises/ss/pictures_2.htm
Response: Cursed Curbs
The drab rain-guttered streets held no enchantment on that gray day. Even the vibrant red curbs seemed dulled by the damp and garbage. Umbrellas populated the city streets, their owners hidden beneath the monotone domes.
But inside his head, music swirled in beats and measures. It danced in perfect rhythm. He walked quickly, his shoes tapping like a drum, perfectly blended. How he wished he had a pen and blank music.
A sheet of paper in a gutter caught his eye as he crossed the street. He was tempted to pick it up, knowing that by the time he reached his apartment the perfect melody that ebbed and flowed throughout him would be diminished. He deliberated so long that he almost stumbled over the opposing curb and the music became amateur and discordant.
Notes: This title is somewhat of a joke (a reference to a song), but I will be thoroughly impressed if anyone gets it.
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