He slipped his sunglasses over his eyes with a black sharpie between his fingers, ready for the onslaught of fans and paparazzi to surround him. “Let’s go dude,” the guy behind him complained. “Move.” It’s go time. Sidney stepped off the train into Grand Central Station with his arms out like Christ on the cross and his chin raised high. The line-up of commuters rushed out of the train grumbling and cursing under their breaths as they passed him. Where were all of his fans? Surely the paparazzi got tipped off that he was coming back to New York City. Ahh. Here’s a fan coming now. Sidney’s fan shuffled over with a dirty, ripped up coat drooping over his hunched over shoulders. His hair was gray with patches of black, that looked more like clumps of dirt than dark hair. He was holding out an empty coffee cup in front of him. He wasn’t Sidney’s average fan, of the younger, cooler demographic, but who was Sidney to turn down a fan? He was a celebrity. Adored by millions.
