A little sheepish having never done one of these things before, Bailey sits cross-legged on the ledge of an arched bridge overlooking Central Parkapos;s lake. Itapos;s just a little chilly this time of year, though certainly not unbearable, and to pass the time, Bailey idly drops birdseed down to the three pigeons that have migrated to stand on the bridge in front of him. Heapos;s dressed to suit the weather, in dark blue jeans, tennis shoes and a green, long-sleeved fleece pullover. His hair is in its usual slightly spiked-out state with dyed chunks of black and brown to contrast the blond.
One of the grey pigeons flies just high enough to situate itself on the ledge of the bridge beside Bailey, hoping to get more birdseed out of the effort, and inwardly Bailey hopes the birds wonapos;t scare too many people off. Besides, he likes talking to people, whatever chance he can get, and even if people arenapos;t looking for a date, he is quite eager to start up conversations with them anyway.
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