NYC: The Inanimate

Its a city of dreams, history and endless inanimateness...

New York City has an obdurate conscience. They say it is alive. I say New York's liveliness is just a specious theory. I see the faces walking on the streets and they speak to me out of the emptiness of the abstract concrete layers of history. I wonder if the next person passing me is going to push me against the wall and ask for my wallet. I am not paranoid... I am real.

The smell of the City is what gets us into feeling the presence of the essence of New York. The smell is disgusting. The smell is New York City.

I ride the subways most of the time to get around. The subways feel like the mythical Greek underworld. But I bet that the underworld could not smell as "Yucky" as the tunnels of the subway do. Yet, as the train shivers with the cold on the faces of the passengers, I stare at the lifelessness of the three year old grabbing on to her mother's arm.

I'm standing by the fire hydrant on 46th Street waiting for Agnieska. She said she would be here at 7:15 pm. It is 7:35 pm now. "Les Miserables" starts at 8:00 pm. I have been waiting since 7:00 pm. The fire hydrant's color is more orangish than flashy red. There is a black Lexus sedan with tinted windows standing right in front of the fire hydrant. A girl walking my way smiles at me. I smile back. Suddenly, my cell phone rings. "Hello?" "Hi, its me, Agnieska." "Where are you?" "Look behind you, the hottest woman you can see." I look behind. She is wearing red. I shut my cell phone and walk up to her. She gives me a hug and says, "Hey." I smile.

As we are exchanging greetings and words, New York breathes over my neck. But the breathing has the touch of cold death. I turn my head left for a moment and I see between the walls of buildings a sky filled with light at this hour of the day. New York shines bright at night... as if it gives out all its light to stay dark inside.

I'm not paranoid... I'm a New Yorker.