This was written for the Short Story competition that was advertised on the forum. Now that the closing date has passed, I can post it up without fear of you lot nicking my ideas and bettering them. Enjoy!

“You’re that guy, aren’t you? The Ground Zero guy?”
He didn’t turn to the man who took a seat next to him, but the smart suit that he saw out of the corner of his eye told him that it was yet another businessman who spoke. His upbringing overrode his anxiety, and his manners forced him to respond, though he kept his head reasonably low.
“Depends what you mean,” he replied.
“You’re the guy that hangs around Ground Zero. The ‘history-don’t let it be a mystery’ guy,” the man replied, the questioning tone now absent, certain of his ground.
The ‘Ground Zero guy’ tired to fight the thin grin of appreciation that rose to his lips, but hearing his catchphrase from someone else gave a sense of pride. The recognition, and even a degree of admiration, in this man’s voice made him feel…famous, or at least as close to famous as he could ever hope to be.
“Yeah, that’s me,” he said.
“So what’re you doing here?”
The man’s words slapped him in the face with the full force of reality. For the first time since entering the building, ‘Ground Zero guy’ leant back on the bench they were sitting on, raised his head and glared at the beautiful ceiling of Grand Central Station, as if the tranquil blue paint was responsible for his being here. Through the towering arched windows at the sides of the main concourse, the midday Manhattan sun was fighting its way through the surrounding towers, calling him, tempting him to go outside, to leave the safety of the station. On a day like this, he would have been down at Ground Zero, the scar on New York City where the World Trade Centre had once stood. As his thoughts returned to that site, he could almost feel the weight of his photo album in his hand, now stashed hurriedly in a cupboard back at his apartment.
“History - don’t let it be a mystery!” he would cry, and the catchy chant would seize the ears of a thousand tourists throughout the day.
As he continued his call, beginning his well-practised speech that brought the photographs to life, the people around him would gather nearby, like children around a kindly story-telling grandfather, and listen, look, and remember. He never failed to pause briefly on the last photo as he remembered the only detail he did not pass on to the public; the area where his wife and son had been found.
Even on the cruel winter days, he would be there, his photos cradled in his arms, but wind-bitten ears were less willing to listen, so he would stand by the steel fence surrounding the site and stare into space, reaching out to the city itself. They had both suffered two losses, but only the city had a physical scar.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean anything by it,” the businessman said, shattering the silence, “It’s just that I’ve listened to your story and figured you would be down there on a nice day like this.”
The smile in this man’s voice put him at ease, despite his situation, and he turned to seem the friendly grin of his companion. The grin receded as ‘Ground Zero guy’s features came into focus.
“What happened to you, man?” the man asked, a sudden and genuine concern in his voice.
The words breathed the pain back into his face, as ‘Ground Zero guy’ slowly became aware of how much his face was throbbing. He felt the weight of his swollen eye and tasted the dried blood on his lips.
“Not everyone appreciates what I do,” he answered simply.
Punctuating the spaces between the information boards on the steel fence surrounding Ground Zero were smaller boards with a warning. It was illegal to sell anything on or around the site, as a mark of respect. He had always agreed with that policy, most people did, but there was always someone who took a warning as a challenge. He had seen men selling T-shirts, couples selling magazines, and most had been sent away by the police monitoring the site.
But what was wrong with showing a few photographs, telling a few stories? He didn’t ask for money for it. He wouldn’t even accept money for it from the few tourists who had offered, and yet the police still had a problem with him. Every time they heard the cry of ‘History – don’t let it be a mystery’, they had escorted him across the road, sending him away. His observation that there were magazine being sold nearby had been ignored, but at least they could not stop him from returning later.
Over time, some of the cops had become lenient, allowing him to show his pictures. This morning, however, a new officer had arrived, an overzealous young rookie determined to ‘keep the peace’. At first, he had followed the officer obediently, but this rookie had already decided on a course of action. He had found himself in an alleyway, receiving a black eye, a bruised rib and several cuts to his face. What had there been to do but defend himself?
“Sir, I’m afraid you’ll have to come with me,” a voice said, ripping him from his memories.
He looked up and saw the face of a police officer, his hand on the butt of his holstered pistol. There was no fighting this, there was no escaping it. He had tried. The irony was a bullet wound as he heard the tannoy announce that his train was now boarding, just before the officer spoke again.
“Sir, you are under arrest for the assault and murder of a police officer and you need to come with me,” the officer said.
The businessman next to him sat and stared in silence as ‘Ground Zero guy’ stood and allowed himself to be cuffed by the officer’s partner. He turned to the businessman.
“History shouldn’t be a mystery,” he said weakly, “but neither should it be a crime.”

Damn, you should keep writing this... or make it into a book or something. It is very good. There is nothing mediocre about that story - it is superior writing. And if you didn't enter into the contest you should have. enter it in the next one for sure. :o I am in awe.

Thanks very much, but that is where the story ends, there'll be no more. And I did put this in the contest, but I waited until after the deadline to post it on here. Just in case some passer-by should better it. :P