Skyline (Part 3)

The streets were still damp from the night before, glistening in the early morning light. Down here, in the oldest part of Manhattan, the air carried the weight of history—stone, and steel pressed tight, the ghosts of a thousand deals made and broken.

Elliot rolled his shoulders, adjusting to the feel of the running shoes he’d thrown on that morning. He was already regretting them.

Solomon, walking beside him, grinned. “A proper city man turned athlete.”

Elliot sighed. “You said my dress shoes wouldn’t make it.”

“I said your Italian shoes wouldn’t make it.”

Elliot shook his head. “I didn’t take you for a guy with strong opinions on footwear.”

Solomon tapped his cane against the pavement. “I have opinions on everything.”

They turned a corner, the sound of gulls overhead mingling with the early morning hum of downtown. Solomon lifted his chin slightly as if catching a familiar scent in the sea air that rolled across Battery Park.

“There’s a guy, Charlie, runs a little espresso stand at the edge of Battery Park,” he said. “Knows a good coffee bean.”

Elliot raised an eyebrow. “You have a preferred barista?”

“I have standards.” Solomon smirked. “Besides, first stop of the day ought to be coffee. You’re going to need it.”

Elliot scoffed but followed.

Just as Solomon had said, there was Charlie—an older man with sleeves rolled up, a weathered face, and a sharp eye for who actually knew their coffee from the tourists who drowned it in sugar. When he saw Solomon, he didn’t hesitate.

“Solomon, my man!”

“That must be Charlie. Charlie, this is my friend Elliot. Elliot, Charlie. I’m taking Elliot on the blind man’s tour of Manhattan today.”

“You don’t say! Well, what can I get for you gentlemen this morning?”

“You already know what I want, Charlie.”

Charlie laughed, then turned to Elliot. “And for you?”

Elliot hesitated. “Uh—black, I guess.”

Charlie gave him a look, unimpressed. “Guess?”

“Black,” Elliot repeated, firmer.

Charlie poured the coffee and handed it over. Solomon took his own cup, inhaled deeply, and let out a satisfied sigh. “Now that’s a cup of coffee.”

They walked on, the city beginning to wake around them. Elliot took a sip of his coffee, then glanced at Solomon.

“How’d you sleep?” he asked.

Solomon smirked. “That mattress in your guest room? Firm enough to break a man.”

Elliot laughed.

“Not that I’m complaining,” Solomon added. “Roof over my head, warm bed, and the kind of company that comes with expensive whiskey. I’ve had worse nights.”

Elliot didn’t ask where those worse nights had been.

Instead, he watched the city move—workers in suits moving with purpose, delivery trucks rumbling by, tourists already angling for the first ferry to the Statue of Liberty. Solomon walked at a steady pace, cane tapping in rhythm, moving through the streets as though he knew them better than Elliot ever could.

Elliot had to remind himself—Solomon was blind. And yet, he spoke as though he had seen it all. It was a peculiar thing that hung over their walk, an uncanny contradiction that Elliot couldn’t shake.

By the time they reached the Woolworth Building, the morning traffic had thickened. The air smelled of freshly brewed ambition, and Elliot was already questioning his life choices.

Solomon stopped, turning toward the towering neo-Gothic structure. “You know this one, don’t you?”

“Woolworth,” Elliot said. “Finished in 1913. The tallest in the world for a while.”

“‘The Cathedral of Commerce,’” Solomon murmured. “Cass Gilbert built it like a church because that’s what skyscrapers were back then—monuments to ambition.” He gestured toward it. “Look at those details. Gargoyles, vaulted arches, buttresses. A medieval castle built for businessmen.”

Elliot studied the façade, its intricate carvings, the way it felt crafte