Blocks

T

he ground was wet. Jimmy walked on, from the tip of Manhattan Island up State Street, on the opposite side of the sidewalk. His hair was wet. His feet were wet. His eyelashes were wet, trapping cold icy air when he blinked. It’s hard to tell if it’s raining. It’s like something was falling down on everybody in this city. Yet when Jimmy looked up, he saw nothing but the blurring gray, heavy and unmoving. The dense rain cloud consumed the upper body of every giant building. And people felt somehow, soaked, deep.

Jimmy crossed the street, paused at the intersection. Right there at the corner where no one lingered, he stopped. He sensed someone was watching him. So he slowly turned his head. He saw a man dressed heavily in black, the coat, the scarf, the knit hat, even the hair and the color of his eyes. The man looked back with startled gesture, mouth opened, quietly shut. Then Jimmy realized it was his own reflection. Jimmy hurried past the block and turned northward at Greenwich Street, into the shadow cast down by the wonder city.

It was quiet on the street as if people had forgotten this part of the city. For a brief moment, Jimmy saw no one but himself. It felt somehow surreal in this long over-crowded place. But Jimmy had no time to stop and marvel. He marched in swift steps, a little too fast, but it kept him energetic and warm, and most importantly, occupied. People reemerged once the street bended and connected to Trinity Place. He walked past the subway, but thought better to continue on his feet. He couldn’t remember he’s 26 or 27, or maybe 58.

Jimmy once went inside the graveyard of Trinity Church. That day was cloudy and dark like today if he remembered correctly, but it was dry. The church looked sad and lonely even with its ground filled with tourists and wanderers. The walls looked rustic and tinged with traces of moss. A gigantic pillar rose in the middle of the burial ground with its curve surprisingly neat and clean. He couldn’t make out what’s written over most of the graves. He didn’t know what to look for. He didn’t stay for long. When he left, he caught a glimpse of the red roots of a tree on the other side of the church clawing the ground like a Sci-fi monster in a position ready to spring. 

Jimmy walked past Trinity Church. He lowered his pace to look at the brown brick wall of the church, the banners and the still leafy branches flying in midair. But he did not bring himself to stop. The church looked more peaceful to him from this side of the street. Jimmy felt grateful for a moment.

Jimmy came to an open space that used to be the site of the twin towers. Before the street connected to Church Street, he looked right and saw the trees burning with bright yellow flame in Zuccotti Park with a black glassy modern skyscraper erected in the back, in a shiny color, in perfect contrast. Jimmy suddenly realized that he was in a moving crowd. But no one else seemed to recognize such spectacular. Jimmy circled the park examining the beaming leaves to make sure his eyes didn’t betray him. Jimmy walked to the Broadway side of the park and resumed his journey uptown.

Jimmy walked pass the crowd. He saw old people, young people, middle-age people. He saw an attractive black woman in a bright red coat and a sharp suit underneath. He quickly diverted his eyes. He saw pairs of Korean students, ancient Asian, anxiously enchanted. He saw a man with glasses, a little chubby, brown-blonde hair. He wore a yarmulke on his head. Then he saw a young boy, also wearing the hech cap, running up to the man, and started talking. Jimmy saw a fat girl in a stupid uniform. He saw two women talking frantically in the middle of an entrance to a building. He saw a mother scold her teary, speechless ten-year-old son. And he saw one crazy European guy wearing nothing but a T-shirt in this freezing cold waiting to cross the street.

 Jimmy saw a lean old brown building peeling with age when Broadway crossed John Street. He looked at the arched windows with broken glass. Jimmy stopped and saw a housewife lower a basket secured by a string through one of the windows. Then he saw a young girl jump off the roof. He ran to the middle of Broadway, cared not the passing traffic with his arms slightly parted. He raced across the street. A coming car honked at him. He raced to the spot where he thought he might catch the fall. His eyes fixated on the girl and her flying long dress flipping behind her, her blank face. But when he opened his arms, he only saw tapes showering down on him covering his sight, yellow, pale yellow tapes. The girl was gone. The housewife was gone. And when he tried to look carefully, the tapes were all gone and the broken glass all fixed. Only the sound of squeaking wheels lingered and rang in his ears. Then he felt an urge pushing him forward. So he continued.

Who's this John anyway? Jimmy once knew a man called John who knocked on his door carrying a Bible and tried to sell him a car. No, he did not try to sell him a car. And he’s not even called john. He did not knock on his door, because it's not his door. It’s just something Jimmy saw in a movie. The man was not selling a car. He might be called John. But he’s probably not carrying a Bible. Jimmy knew a man called Robert, though. Robert burst his jizz all over his face. He then became ritually unclean, must not be considered one of God’s people, and was responsible for his own death.

He’s hungry, but he felt so full at the same time that if he walked any faster, he might vomit on the spot. So when he smelt food on the street, he shook his head. He saw a sign telling him to stop. He quickly turned left. When he reached the other end of the block, mountains of garbage blocked his way. So he turned right at Fulton Street.

Jimmy jumped over several heaps of piled garbage. When he tried to stay clear of the scattered litter on the ground, he bumped into a huge guy. Jimmy was frightened. The guy could easily knock him over. But the man passed on, not even offended, or more precisely, didn’t even noticed, leaving Jimmy mumbling apologies under his breath.

Jimmy walked down a few blocks when he suddenly saw a book with a green hard cover hopped out of the subway station, and skipped across the street. Jimmy wanted to pick it up, but the book was going so fast that Jimmy nearly tumbled trying to catch it. The book disappeared. It’s a shame that Jimmy never knew what it’s about so that he could look it up in a library and find out what he missed.

Jimmy noticed a huge line of books waiting impatiently on the sidewalk. Some flipped their pages in an irritated mood while some tilted sideways trying to find out what’s going on. Then Jimmy heard the sound of books shut violently and mysterious thumps like when you put a book back on the wooden shelf. There’s a fight apparently. And it’s already too late to locate where it was and which books started it. A historical book about Elizabeth the first, the Virgin Queen, lost her balance and fell, on the book before her, Orlando by Virginia Woolf. They must have come together from England. Orlando tried to resist, but couldn’t. He cried out “for ever and ever and ever alone!” in a young and thin voice, then fell on the book before, and the one on the next. The dominoes went on and on and on. Jimmy was stunned to see such a collection. It must be at least a dozen miles long. But there’s nothing he could do. Jimmy left the books moaning and struggling, feeling maliciously happy and turned the corner.

Jimmy remembered the place. He once bought a bouquet of ugly flowers here.

The comical mood changed violently. When Jimmy saw the sign of Ann Street, he started to cry fiercely.

“Ten thousand miles away from home, ten thousand miles or more.”

Jimmy covered his face with two hands. He couldn’t open his eyes. It hurt when he did. The sobs gagged him. And he felt weak and fragile. He wanted to shout out. But he just couldn’t. He made muted, muffed yet excited noises. He couldn’t stand upright, nor could he walk any further. He couldn’t see, so he couldn’t find a place to sit. He bended down and put his arms forward trying to touch the ground.

Suddenly, Jimmy heard a shrieking wail storm up his brain and realized that it was an ambulance and that he now stood before a hospital. The tears ceased. The sky was now bright, so bright that he felt ashamed. He looked. He saw the ambulance pull close. He saw a man and a Hispanic short man ran out of the hospital. He saw the men cast stealthy looks at his direction. He listened. He heard whispering and interrupts of stressed intonation. He heard orders and explanation between the men and people invisible to him. When one of the men locked eyes with his, Jimmy heard him say ‘now.’ And Jimmy started to run. Now, because it’d be too late. Now, he couldn’t stop. Now, he wouldn’t stop.

Jimmy ran along Gold Street then turned right at Frankfort Street. He ran and he felt his legs were about to fall off. Every step he took to escape rattled and rocked his every bone, already growing thin and breakable. He begged for help. He raised his arms upward to gods asking for mercy. And he pulled his face into a painful twist. He passed alarmed young students walking on the pavement. But before he opened his mouth to plead, they all turned and joined the pursuit of his capture. The wind came. Then waves of metal barricades materialized, flushed pass him and fended off hunters after him. Jimmy ran to freedom. He saw a forest. But it was quickly replaced by a steel construction guarded by dull blue wooden protective panels just before he reached the waterfront. He sailed triumphantly down the white cliff of Dover. Then he laughed, out loud, hysterically, when he can barely manage to breathe until the water of men cum and earthly pleasure swallowed him. And he heard the silent crying of hookers now buried deep down under Brooklyn Bridge.

Jimmy floated on the water. He breathed the salty air of the ocean and the filth of human flesh. He thought the waning waves were going to wash him away. He thought he’s going to hear voices. But there he stayed, wide awake, exposed on the rocks. He also remembered the smell. He remembered going to the pier, not so far from here. He watched a show at the pier. He saw a girl twirl and spin, round and round, swinging above the ground. It was dark. But he remembered he liked it very much.

The east-bound scenery from then on was soothing and calm. Here once born the hope and threat, boasting the ambitious rising of the impoverished labor class and suppressing the free will of a liberated new world. But now, only twelve cross-shaped giants stood witnessing the afterlives of Brooklyn Bridge and defending the legend of a working man. Jimmy shuffled ahead on the broad and open sidewalk of South Street, undisturbed and protected by the hardship, the glory and the defeat of yore. Thousand eyes gazed coldly out at the direction of their motherland with a certain degree of senility, pass the goddess of their current patronage, pass the man now turned left on their eastern boarder at Catherine Slip. While Jimmy left the monotonously graphical apartment buildings to one side, lively, colorful, fire-escape fronted tenement houses and strange letters started to appear on the other, window frames of library green and walls of salmon pink.

When Jimmy crossed Madison Street, A neatly manicured brick building with a spotless white roof turned into a neglected church with splashes of exposed red bricks under smeared white coating and dusty windows. Men with half shaved heads and long tails of braid bowed yet stared with resentment. They faded like smoke and were reshaped as ordinary men with western suits, nicely oiled hair and the same unmistakable dark spirit behind the brown irises. Prisoned behind walls were young maidens with long raven hair who could only manage delicate steps. Voices of unknown languages were exchanged in the air. Traffic appeared. There’s a golden Chinese palace that could only be seen from the south, from the back and both sides. When Jimmy walked past it to Doyers Street and looked back, he saw nothing but a deserted lot.

Doyers Street was quiet. Jimmy could hear the rain drops clinging on store signs but eventually falling on the moist ground. He heard his own footsteps bouncing back to him and he sensed unnamed creatures ruffling beyond the unforeseeable angle of combat. He was about to retrace his way back. But a young girl with tanned skin came out of a tea house and gestured to him to come in.

Jimmy went inside the timeless tearoom. But before he could start his tea and order his dim sum, even before he could observe the room well, gunshots were heard on the street. Jimmy ducked down under the table shaking visibly until the violence went out. Jimmy peeked out the window and saw the streets covered with bodies and oozing blood slowly flooded the ground. Then the gunshots started again. The hostess apologized for the inconvenience. She led Jimmy to the back door and urged him to flee from there. The tea was too hot so Jimmy took a sip of plain tap water. The hostess then wished him well and hoped to see him again soon.

Jimmy came out on Mott Street. But before he could shake the shock behind him, he was pushed into another scene of rough wretchedness. He came to a slum where drunkards argued on the streets and bursts of violence erupted now and then. There were white people and black people all around. Fornication was spotted out in the open. And famished children lay dying  against the walls when wastes and filth made their tombs. Jimmy was rushed and pushed in the crowd unwillingly when he felt hands groping for valuables. His hair was pulled. His coat and clothes were torn. He was tripped, stripped and held down by an unforgiving force. Jimmy was nailed down on the ground. He tried to scream but ate earth instead. He tried to struggle free but he could only see soiled boots dance in his face. His eyes went black and he felt he was drained. Then the force got loose.

Jimmy was now on his knees in a middle of a park with a penny in his left palm. A little girl with a dirty yet innocent face came and smiled at him.

“That penny ‘twas mine.” The girl said.

Dead leaves were rained down on the grass. Jimmy did not move. The girl took the penny and capered away on the green. Jimmy looked around and recognized civilization. He then crawled Mulberry Street up the silk road leaving thin threads behind him.

Jimmy smelled rotten produce and corpses as he advanced. Swarms of mosquitoes and Chinese people dominated this territory. People walked in pairs or small groups. Those that were left alone scrambled along bobbing this way and that. People saluted with a strange manner. Before speaking and after mutual interest being disengaged, masks of rouged gods were put on. People avoided eye contacts, chanted and hollered before they crossed the street. They stamped the ground three times with their right feet when they turned. And they tried but with no success to wield off the attack of winged insects. So they walked with their arms dancing frenetically.

Jimmy came to a canal with an unbearable scent of decay and fermentation. This must be the source that turned the sky gray, he thought. The water was inked with blood fingering its way ashore. It carried carcasses of cattle and emitted toxic fumes. Butchers relieved themselves at the brink of the water. Women dumped buckets of excrement and chamber pots into the water, spat when they left cursing blasphemies. People in ragged clothes with yellowish sicken faces brewed and drank tea from the polluted water. Children with purple lips and black nails collected dead flowers and devoured them as they went about. Jimmy swam through the canal, swam in urine, sewage and forsaken prayers. When he crossed the canal, he shook his head like a wild dog.

Immediately, the atmosphere was different. Flags of green, white and red were flied on the street. The colors were over storefronts, lamppost and hung in midair, signaling the occasion of celebration. Tables were put outside caffes, vacant under this weather but still people cheered. White tablecloth was laid inside every ristorante italiano. Waiters wore white shirts with trousers, shoes, ties, aprons black, and hair carefully combed. White flowers bloomed on trees, shone with the rain, but the leaves were falling and the trees were dying already.

Jimmy danced past the diners. When he jumped past Caffe Roma on Broome Street, he entered a street of secluded quietness. Joyous eateries broadcasted servility no more. Chic and distanced boutiques watched passers-by instead. Jimmy felt somehow self-conscious, but was also glad to be left alone. Shoppers were willing to pay him no notice. Despite the difference of preferred attire and alluring perfume, they quite welcomed Jimmy into this junction of differentiated realms.

Jimmy breathed and felt the moist on his lips. He swallowed and looked sideways. No one bothered to acknowledge anything. It’s liberating. But Jimmy felt rejected nevertheless. It’s all too quiet. He tried not to look at his reflection when he passed windows showcasing feminine fashion. He kept his eyes on the ground for a while. But then decided to study people he passed.

Everyone looked absolutely the same. They had different clothes on. They had different hairstyles. Some were blonde while some were deep brown caffeinated hazelnut. Some wore printed dresses with short denim jackets. Some wore tight blue jeans with riding boots. But their faces were the same, men and woman alike, the round eyes, the sharp noses, the cruel lips, except for a few Asians who had no faces at all. Then he saw his own when he walked too close to the window. He looked exhausted and awkward. He wondered if he should get a haircut. Jimmy pulled his knit hat down a little and turned left on Bleecker Street when Mulberry Street ended.

The stillness stayed behind. Jimmy walked across packs of ordinary people, stories from all directions crossing one another on the street, ending somewhere else, some going slowly down. He walked past two elaborately facaded buildings before he felt the ground slightly shaking to a faint yet steady rhythm. He crossed Broadway again. The hip and the young started to sing.

A young man with a set of hairy brows flied past Jimmy on a skateboard, leaving a tickling sound of the tail of a shooting star. The beats got louder. Jimmy could hear different pulses cluster in together. He saw the lines of trees quiver according to the tempo. He heard feet shuffle like dance steps. And he saw smoke come out of windows smelling like burnt grass which made his head ache. A girl with a military hat and wavy long hair rode past his right on a bicycle. She sang ‘ain’t got the whole night long,’ and smiled benignly at him. A young student in a huge ear phone, which was so big that it looked like three balls pieced together where the head should be, nodded continuously and agreed “that’s right, man’. Couples of elderly trilled ‘all night long, all night long’ behind. And an amplified, wild and soaring voice repeated the chorus again. Jimmy looked left and saw a huge white sculpture of a head of a young girl as an artist climbed the last three notes into a birdsong and winked at him.  

Jimmy turned right at Laguardia Place. The cheerful melody still danced after him. But the street now showed an air as if in alarm and mourning. The trees were close, blocking the view beyond. People were speechless and determined on their path. Just when Jimmy hit West 3^rd Street, trees stood back and revealed before him, a strong and tall fortress built with vertical stretching. He heard faint voices from above. He looked up and saw people throw out pieces of paper and cry ‘liberate me’, again and again, from the top of the building, over the top of their voices. Other objects were thrown, too, like keys and metrocards. Once in a while, people came out to reclaim what’s appeared to be, a mistake.

A decapitated head was paraded around the block on a pike. Jimmy followed it and entered Washington Square Park. Jimmy heard drums beaten and muskets fired. When he crossed the park’s green turf, he saw troops wearing tricorns and uniform from the revolution era. The declaration of independence was read aloud. ‘Exitus acta probat’ was quoted constantly among the viewing crowd like amens during lectures. The patriotism was hailed and accumulated to its highest when Jimmy came near the gathering. Then the blue jackets with red breast of the soldiers became rags of the dead eaten away by earth. No more heroes stood up straight but countless zombies lay lifelessly facing the pressing sky.

A man with a rope burn on his neck and sunken eyes shook his head under an elm tree. The church bell rang. ‘Oh, all that I’ve ever loved!’ was heard across the field. Then the man under the tree whispered to Jimmy, “Perhaps it was the first that the unfortunate creature had ever shed.” Jimmy turned and saw the white marble arch. A young girl in a white petticoat was dangling on a burgundy velvet swing singing crystal clear laughter. Two identical men stood on each side of her, marking the columns of the arch. One said, “You’ve ruined my wife.” The other insisted, “You’ve ruined my life.” Jimmy came through the arch noticing the girl had no eyes in the sockets. He came out on Washington Square North and turned Waverly Place. The crowd hoorayed.

The street was clear again. This time, Jimmy felt that he belonged. He had roots here. There weren’t many people out on the street. The few that were hurried their ways with steps like his, a quick scan, looked away, and never to meet again. Jimmy turned into Gay Street, a tiny alley with decent looking houses. It was almost too clean like no one actually lived in those rooms. It had a charmed atmosphere as if the whole place was asleep. All the living things that passed were nothing but strangers traveling through this coated piece of land. Plants stood and lined up on the fire escape looking at the street filled with invisible beings. A tree grew outside a white house taller than the wall it crawled. It’s inspiring to see such a lofty and vivid greenery grew on such roots so delicate and frail. Jimmy turned left on Christopher Street. He bid farewell to the street and every crowned sleeping beauty slumbering inside jinxed to silence and coaxed posture. A tall drag queen stood outside the Stonewall Inn. Her face was powdered and reflected no light. Her lips were smudgy. Her brows arched too high and her eyes looked tired. Her sliding real hairline above her forehead was almost visible under her poorly readjusted wig. She opened her massive but uneven bosom and welcomed Jimmy. She hugged Jimmy and comforted, “there, there, it’s okay. We all do, you know.” But Jimmy broke free and joined the pedestrians past 7^th Avenue.

Down Christopher Street toward Hudson River, people judged. ‘It’s not hard to break the ice’ was written on a sign post. ‘All you need is a little dance’ was on a pink glittering plate beneath it. An old lady with a sulky face came out of the subway. She had an ugly green shirt on and no make-up. She saw the signs and looked puzzled. But she did a little tap nevertheless with her hands holding bags of grocery shopping. After she was done, she had bright red lips and matching snake skin boots. She whistled while she walked. Jimmy could hear the sounds of her whip and painful cries as she catwalked ahead before him. The only thing that didn’t change was her fingernails which were already bloody red in the first place.

The same things were happening all around him. Plain and normal looking people danced and then became superstars with fluffy hairdos and noisy shoes. Quite frankly, Jimmy was scared. He edged to the inner side of the sidewalk and wished he had chosen a different route. A black skinny flaming man with a pink punk hair caught Jimmy and encouraged, “sweetheart, just a little dance.” Jimmy wasn’t sure. But the man slapped Jimmy in the face before he could decide how to respond. The man cried, “shame on you!” People gave him dirty looks. Jimmy felt hurt but edged on.

 Jimmy walked past Greenwich Street. The street got wider. And it was where he could see the Hudson River and the reflection of a city on the other side, he met his love.

The sky was still gray, but things looked clean. It was cold, but he felt warmed. The boy was young, really young, and Jimmy felt young as well. They talked and they laughed. The boy delivered grocery. And Jimmy accompanied him. They held hands and they kissed under trees. But suddenly, the boy stopped and shook his head with tears flowing down his face, pink from the wind. Jimmy sighed, but asked, “at least, walk with me.” They turned right at Washington Street.

Jimmy saw a flower. He picked it up and offered it to the boy. “Would you like a rose?” The boy shook his head. The boy talked no more and his hands felt cold. Jimmy tightened his grip. But the boy withdrew his. Shops were closed and rental signs were everywhere. They were silent when they walked. When they crossed West 10^th Street, Jimmy remembered the penny, and he asked the boy, “Would you like some money?” The boy shook his head. “It’s just as well,” Jimmy thought, “I don’t have it anyway.” When they were about to cross Charles Street, Jimmy saw the word ‘school’ painted on the ground. He asked the boy, “Do you want to have kids?” The boy shook his head violently and replied, “I am a kid myself.” When they crossed Perry Street, Jimmy asked the boy, “but would you like a home?” The boy looked at Jimmy, paused for a moment, smiled and nodded. Jimmy smiled, too. And he felt that things were getting better. But before they reached West 11^th Street, there’s a closet on the street. The boy opened the door and walked in when Jimmy turned the next crossing.

“Would you like a cup of tea?” Jimmy asked. But then realized that he had lost the boy. He remembered that he had lost the boy long ago when he was a boy himself. Jimmy found a little café. He went in and ordered a cup of cappuccino, and sat down against the red brick wall. Colorful paintings were hung on the walls. When he sat down, the ceiling looked tall, and the room didn’t look so small. He felt weary but not sad. He didn’t want a home. And he didn’t want the boy at all.

Jimmy got out of the café on 11^th Street and wandered the blocks absent-mindedly. He must have turned left on Hudson Street, because before he knew it, he found himself on 8^th Avenue. There was a park. Jimmy saw parents and immigrant nannies push strollers around or stand aside and watch the children play. They didn’t seem to mind the weather and the cold as long as the children stay engaged. Jimmy walked past a few boxy buildings, walked past gyms and vitamin shops, then wandered into The Blue without blinking. He browsed the covers of porno movies, some he picked up and viewed the back. He walked past sex toys on the shelf in the next aisle. Then he drifted into the curtained saloon, a lamb wanting to be ripped apart, alive, into a pack of famished wolves. Jimmy knelt down. Tears were squeezed out of his eyes as a guy locked Jimmy’s head with his hairy arms and choked Jimmy with his malevolence. Jimmy dared not swallow as the guy groaned his relief but refused to set Jimmy free. Jimmy didn’t say a word. After he left, Jimmy spat till his throat got sour and went his separate way.

He went inside a chain grill place and got a burrito. He sat down before a man from Sri Lanka and talked for hours. He liked the man, so real, so humble and down to earth. He liked his tanned skin, so gentle and smooth. He liked his voice, hoarse and honest. But Jimmy was not attracted. And sometimes, he couldn’t understand what he’s saying. So he had to let him go. He was now alone. Jimmy took a bite of cheesecake. As he lifted his head, he saw a guy wave at him and turned the corner. He slowly finished his dessert. He got up. A homeless old woman asked for a bagel but couldn’t pay. Jimmy paid for that. He got out of the door. He was now at the crossroad of 8^th and West 23^rd Street. He thought the man disappeared down the subway. But there he was, just a few steps away, waiting. The man started walking. Jimmy turned and started to stalk.

Jimmy pushed through the crowd before the movie theater quietly and patiently. The blue satin trench coat of his target led him forward. The man stopped at a hotel sign, white under daylight, buzzing red into night, and waited, for Jimmy to catch up. Then he went inside. His face never turned. Jimmy followed him inside the lobby, and prowled up the stairs spiraled by cold wrought iron flowers. The thumping steps of the man’s shoes intrigued Jimmy’s heartbeat and fascination. Jimmy’s breathing became short and quick, but was tamped silent. The man stopped. And Jimmy jumped on his prey, fangs ready to suck on his neck when the man objected, “no, not before we’re married in the faith.”

The man turned around and faced Jimmy. He had blonde curly hair but he kept it short and groomed. He had the purest forgive-me-not blue eyes sparkling with morning dews. His lips were full and soft. He had the skin of a Michelangelo’s, and he smelt of roses. The man looked at Jimmy in the eyes and demanded his answers. Jimmy remained silent and motionless. He wanted to touch the man so that he could get to know him. But the man stood firm. Jimmy backed off a step and two, half turned to go away, but then suddenly turned back and stabbed the man in the stomach. The man sucked in a gulp of surprise. He held out one arm, pointed his finger and cursed Jimmy while the other hesitated around his wound. “You will never be happy.” But Jimmy answered in cold blood and empty stares, “I have to keep my half of the bargain.”

Jimmy left, past the rolled down doors and the vaults under, past salons, nail parlors, and more eateries, past restaurants and retail stores, then came between the gaze of Flatiron Building sailing up 5^th Avenue toward the Empire, but anchored forever in the tides of human traffic.

Jimmy crossed 5^th Avenue and Broadway, and continued to the east. The sky now turned to a restless gray. A tower was counting down on the remaining time before human destruction. Every minute, birds flied out and screamed, “doomsday, repent!” But the masses ignored it. The few that did went crazy and were crashed. The earth opened up and swallowed people too hungry and greedy for haste. Yet another tower went up. People fought for every little bit of available land. Soon, they would have to stand on top of each other. Battles weren’t about dignity and glory anymore. Victories had to be effective ASAP. Lies and treachery are acceptable, but must not be discussed openly. Distressed by the helicopters flying above his head, Jimmy turned left at Park Avenue.

As soon as he did, rain started to fall. Tall buildings on both sides blocked out what little sunlight the city managed to get. Banks were stuffed with invested capital and borrowed money. They traded what they didn’t have and bet on what they couldn’t afford. People held their heads high. They had slender bodies and excessively long necks, proud of the class they belonged, the suits they wore, the bright red soles under their high heels, blackberries and iPhones they carried in their pockets. Men ate food from the paper plates as they walked down the streets. Women distinguished themselves with the cups of coffee they held in their hands. People walked in running steps. Whatever little movement people did was quickly repeated by others until they themselves did something and was likewise imitated. People strived. They reached out their hands high. Yet private parks were locked and shut from people yearning the fruit that lay rotten inside.

Beggars were hushed and threw at. But when Jimmy tried to call reason, people turned to yell and scream at him. Beggars picked and threw what missed them at Jimmy. “Take your mercy!” They mocked. A beer bottle struck him on the forehead, and blood streamed down. Jimmy looked up and slowly felt the pain. The sky finally started showering down.

Jimmy lifted his head staring at the pouring rain. It hurt his eyes. And He had no idea where he was going, what he was doing. He stopped, feeling heavily loaded for that instant. Then a warmth from inside surged. And he wet his pants right there in the middle of the street, right before the sign of life, before the judgment of the god of stealth and disguise. Then the sun came out, in a form of fire and cloud. Jimmy bowed down to the ground. He closed his eyes and confessed.

“Forgive me, father, for I have sinned.”

He expected to hear voices. But he heard nothing but water dripping, dip, dip, dip, dip.