To Beginnings.

June is glorious in New York City, and this year was no exception. The temperature was a gorgeous seventy one degrees – warm but not as humid as the next month would be, and the sky was a cloudless blue. There was a frenzied excitement in the air with all the children on summer holidays and couples plotting their excursions to the Hamptons.

During the summer months the women of New York transformed into vibrant and seductive stiletto-clad goddesses roaming the busy streets. Men would stop and stare at long legs protruding from tight, short skirts and follow plunging necklines. Each breeze was full with the scent of perfume, luring in unsuspecting men to shoe stores and quaint cafes. On every street corner stood ten beautiful women rushing to Pilates or gabbing away on cell phones.

In Midtown West, just below 51st street a car horn sounded causing a biker to veer in to traffic. A minimum wage worker attempted to stuff a bag into an over full garbage bin on the side of the road. Someone’s Jimmy Choo slingback was trod on by a large burly man sweating through his cheap suit on his way to a job he hated.

Just down the street, seated in a small coffee shop sat Samantha Wakefield, surreptitiously studying a group of men at a nearby table.

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