Caroline and Jim Trebling had been giggling all evening. Caroline had never known anyone quite so amusing as Trebling. He had no respect for anything; at least, no respect for the things most people did. He made fun of her office and her job and he was pleasant as he did it; not bitter as so many people were.
He had suggested that they visit Times Square and go dancing in one of the large dance halls there. She had tried to talk him into going some place more expensive but he had said that he didn’t have the money and that as long as you danced somewhere that was all that counted.
From Fifth Avenue they walked along Forty-Seventh Street until, finally, they came to the square. Trebling blinked.
“It’s the damnedest sight! I don’t think it can compare with L.A. but there really is something wonderful about it.”
Caroline regarded the square without much emotion. She had seen it all her life. “I think it’s too crowded,” she said finally, wishing that he had decided to take her to a better place, a place with a big name, one she could talk about later.
He stood, however, staring at the lights; then he lowered his eyes from the lights and looked at the people. She noticed now that he looked at people a great deal. Even when they were talking he always stared at people as though there was something wrong with them.
“Why’re you looking around all the time?” asked Caroline. “I don’t understand you at all. I don’t think they like being stared at.”
“What?” He hadn’t been listening to her. “Why do I ... stare? I just like to look at them and see what they’re so busy rushing around for.”
“Don’t you know?”
“No, do you?”