Mulberry Street. November 19th, 2006. A decent night it was aside from the fast life around me.
Everything was at half speed, half mast. The people were going so fast,
They walked right through me. Was my timing off?
Was I existing at the right speed? I don't know. The moon winced.
There were no secrets. The clouds moved on.
A man on the sidewalk constructed a sort of mat out of old cardboard boxes and began screaming at you when you walked by and if you got close enough. He would grab your legs and tear them off piece by piece but an eternity would pass before you even realized what was going on.
At another dimly lit corner, the NYPD's messenger boys were walking through the streets racially profiling everyone and everything they could.
One officer began yelling at an Asian man. The conversation was something like, Look at you, you fucking creep.
Go back to China or wherever the fuck you came from. The man said nothing back. He knew the next punch line but he knew enough not to say it because it's all downhill from there when you are the one without the gun. He trudged on. Who was the one with the power? Some experts would agree on the man who makes the most damage would be the man in control, but I would have to disagree.
The man who said nothing, he won.
The false victor was in search of destruction.
I called for a cab and said, get me out of this place.