Walking through the lobby, I tell Tim, the doorman, "I’m going to wait outside, so I don’t miss my cab." Out on the sidewalk, I stop next to the curb and perch on my suitcase. The truth is, I want a smoke. Digging into my pocket, I retrieve a bent, half smoked cigarette and light the crusty end. Drawing in the warm soothing shot of smoke, I shift my weight off the brass latch sticking up on the edge of my suitcase.
Pain in the butt...how appropriate.
Moving over to the middle of the suitcase, I glance down the street and think about why I'm leaving...better yet, why I ever came here in the first place.
Six months ago I was hoping to find inspiration, hoping to support myself by writing. Now here I am, no ideas, no job, and just hoping I don't get mugged, or worse. Sitting in the dark, waiting to get out of this concrete bunker and hoping more, that the super doesn't notice the rent check that I slipped under his door isn't signed - until after my plane takes off!
Exhaling, I send a slow serpentining ribbon of gray up into the thick air. I watch it climb, cobraing its way upwards, as long as I can. Finally, it blends and disappears completely into the heavy velvety curtain of moisture and sleep that hangs heavy on the rod of twilight. That shimmering, shadowy, shroud that keeps the city tightly swaddled until dawn.
As I continue to smoke, the scene around me starts to slowly come into focus. Dreamlike, invisible street players, sights, sounds and smells, begin to take shape as they present themselves to my brain. A stack of technicolored, 3 D'd photographs, with surround sound, flipping across my senses. A bicycle delivery boy, pumping a chain clanking Huffy, with a plastic carton bungeed onto the handlebars, stops, pulls out a sack full of freshly baked cinnamon rolls and deposits them on the stoop of the coffee shop. The faint aroma of warm spices and yeast weaves its way into the tapestry.
From farther down, the drone of a truck gnawing and gnashing it's gears, echoes through empty concrete canyons.
Suddenly, the piercing wail of a siren makes my body jerk and my heart skip a beat. An electronic scream so loud, that I expect the broadcasting vehicle to be within inches. But, I can't even see the source, only a distant beacon doing a macabre modern dance - alternating red and blue shadows - licking up and down the building fronts.
Out of total darkness, two haloed, stark white circles of blinding light, assault me. Shielding my eyes with the back of my hand, I squint to see if this is my cab. My head is being pulled along an invisible tether, attached to vehicle's front bumper, my gaze turrets as the car slowly approaches me. Silently, the tinted portal into the blackened interior, glides down - a hand sprouts up and tosses out a half full paper cup of something hot. Steam wafts up, as gravity snatches the cup and it's contents down. Then, as quickly as the headlights appeared, the tail lights disappear. The projectile slaps the pavement and splashes the once coveted liquid wake-up call onto the asphalt. It joins little fjords of dark water, adding flashing metallic slick hues that shimmer across the surface. For a moment, they rest in shallow puddle, the only remaining evidence of a middle of the night shower. Then very slowly they flow along the edge of the street and trickle into a culvert in front of, and below my suitcase. Bending my head down to my knees, I peer into the catch-all of things that can not hold on. But it's too dark to see into the open mouth. I can only hear the faint, steady drip of something moving from a higher place to a lower surface.
Jumping to my feet, I throw my head back and cry out, "Thank You! Thank You!" Picking up my suitcase I practically skip back into the lobby.
Surprised, Tim, looks up from his paper, "See, I was afraid this would happen, this early. Those cab drivers aren't reliable." Reaching for the phone, he continues, "I'll give those idiots a call...you don't want to miss your flight!"
"No, Tim, it's ok," I tell him. " I'm not leaving the city." Leaning across his desk, I grab him by the shoulders as I loudly proclaim to my startled audience of one, "Why would I ever want leave this beautiful, sensual, living, breathing mind Mecca ? It is so beautifully simple - you can't discover the treasures of the muse by looking for them. All you have to do is stop and see them!"
Tim blankly watches me walk back across the lobby. He stares as I hum to myself while I'm waiting for the elevator. Just as the elevator doors open, he turns the page of the paper, slowly shakes his head from side to side and mutters, "Writers! Why can't they talk like normal people?"
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