Ben walked on despite his exhaustion. Today was especially hot. It was miserable in a way only a crowded city could be at the height of summer. This city was certainly crowded and summer was flexing her muscles this day more than Ben could remember feeling in his 24 years. If the heat wasn’t overbearing enough, the knowledge of what the next few weeks had in store was a heavy burden to carry. The sun blazed off the asphalt and reminded Ben of an old saying, but sunlight isn’t always the best disinfectant.
This journey took Ben through what surely must be Chinatown, although it also looked Korean. He’d have to research this later. The sidewalks were lined with vendors selling everything from movies to deep sea carcasses. As he weaved through the open air markets, he saw things that would offend any first world palate. Eels, eyes, genitals, these were all fair game for purchase and consumption. Surely at the epicenter of first world capitalism, no one was buying this to feed their family. Ben became nauseous.
It was not the first time his stomach protested today. Earlier he found himself wandering around Battery Park gripped with anxiety and fear. He went to see the one site he absolutely couldn’t miss on this trip. Yet when he craned his neck to stare up at the Towers, he knew immediately he could never bring himself to enter them. He also knew he couldn’t do the one thing every fiber of his being told him was the moral, just and appropriate thing to do. As much as he wanted go to Time’s Square and scream “the end is near” he also realized he would just come off as another schizophrenic seer. Those actions could set off a chain of events possibly more tragic than the ones already set into motion.
Ben had to find somewhere with a bathroom and AC. The heat was too much for him, as was the weight on his shoulders. As he sprinted past a store front, he caught a few seconds of a song. He remembered it well as one his father loved. It had something to do with faint transmissions and one-armed scissors. What was crystal clear were the shouts of “get away.” Those pleading words brought back flashes of how his parents died and brought his anxiety to an all time high. Whatever his assignment was, he knew it didn’t involve stopping the hand of history. Perhaps failing just this one time would be worth the repercussions.
This journey took Ben through what surely must be Chinatown, although it also looked Korean. He’d have to research this later. The sidewalks were lined with vendors selling everything from movies to deep sea carcasses. As he weaved through the open air markets, he saw things that would offend any first world palate. Eels, eyes, genitals, these were all fair game for purchase and consumption. Surely at the epicenter of first world capitalism, no one was buying this to feed their family. Ben became nauseous.
It was not the first time his stomach protested today. Earlier he found himself wandering around Battery Park gripped with anxiety and fear. He went to see the one site he absolutely couldn’t miss on this trip. Yet when he craned his neck to stare up at the Towers, he knew immediately he could never bring himself to enter them. He also knew he couldn’t do the one thing every fiber of his being told him was the moral, just and appropriate thing to do. As much as he wanted go to Time’s Square and scream “the end is near” he also realized he would just come off as another schizophrenic seer. Those actions could set off a chain of events possibly more tragic than the ones already set into motion.
Ben had to find somewhere with a bathroom and AC. The heat was too much for him, as was the weight on his shoulders. As he sprinted past a store front, he caught a few seconds of a song. He remembered it well as one his father loved. It had something to do with faint transmissions and one-armed scissors. What was crystal clear were the shouts of “get away.” Those pleading words brought back flashes of how his parents died and brought his anxiety to an all time high. Whatever his assignment was, he knew it didn’t involve stopping the hand of history. Perhaps failing just this one time would be worth the repercussions.
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