Dream Among the Fog

The young man took a circuitous route home with his girlfriend Amy.  The night had seemingly evaporated and the hour grew late on the cheerless subway.  

The two had spent the evening in the company of Amy's friend Ethan, a law student at Pace.  The handsome young man had a bright faced young woman in tow, Sheri.  Ethan and Sheri met the couple at a swanky speakeasy in the West Village.  Their other friend Lauren came along as well but she didn't have a man.

The young man had visions of a previous era something reminiscent of Mad Men.  Strong cocktails with names as dusty as the walls rotated among the group.  Musical drinks.  The jump and jive of the background jazz peppered the atmosphere in the place.  One drink was enough for both the wallet and the soul. The group departed.

Sheri knew an old college roommate who was boozing nearby in Chelsea.  The roommate had a boyfriend, who according to campus legend at Sheri's alma mater had many unsavory characteristics, some smaller than others.  

The roommate had difficulty speaking on account of her heavy intoxication.  She mustered a fit of giggles in painful unison with Sheri's cackle.  That left the young man to bear the numbing commentary of the boyfriend.  

"I know a glass of water smarter than this guy," the young man thought while looking the boyfriend in the eye.

He was training to be a cop.  Of course this revelation for normalcy and a career came only after string of jobs on ranches and farms.  The young man regretted letting the cretin turn his brain to putty.

The young man wished it were a dream.  The wish was later realized.

Swirls of memories collided into a smoky aftermath.  His sleep became Vietnam, the boyfriend his Vietcong.

He awoke in the middle of the night terrified someone might slice his face with the edge of a broken bottle.

Lucky Star

The Lucky Star Bus Line had a dubious title at best. There was nothing lucky, twinkling, or satisfactory about the young man's experience on the ride from New York to Boston.

Midwood quickly became the worst hell on earth in the young man's mind.

There was more to this tale of sorrow.

Little Birds

They chirped up in unexpected spurts like spring birds. The people along the streets of New York would join in on the couples playing. Joking and commenting were common among these affable types, and it inspired much confidence in the young man.

He knew it to be a more friendly gesture than what he was raised to accept. The South had its rules and routes to friendly manners, but it also lacked substance in many instances. Someone would greet you in a friendly way even though they possessed no true feelings of affection in any sense for you.

New Yorkers didn't scare easily.

All the scary and horrible and terrifying things that could possibly happen in the world already happened in New York... twice. Needless to say that telling someone exactly what was on their mind was the least of their concerns. They didn't act out in an attempt to shock someone but rather would offer up something funny. Lighthearted requests for fifty pushups or race challenges came across as jovial rather than confrontational.

Morning Adventure

Most of his adventures happened after work in the gray sunshine of a Midwood afternoon.  The prospects for adventures were becoming increasing limited for the young man.  The sun slipped out of the sky earlier and earlier.

"Time to be a morning person," he dreamt.

The digitized tones blared out of his somewhat dated flip cell phone.  The young man used gravity to carry him over during his slow roll toward the bedside table.  Somehow he shuffled to the shower.  7:25 a.m. was a full hour before he usually woke up.  

He arrived at One World Plaza for his meeting.  The view from the 35th floor exposed the west side of the island as well as the New Jersey riverbank.  The view took his breath away.  The tops of skyscrapers lined up in front of him like cornfields basking in the glorious morning sun.  

He ate a bagel after the meeting.  He found out later that this morning adventure was more successful than he expected.  He would be a New Yorker for longer.  He would be paid.  He got the job.  

A sense of achievement washed over him.  

A Step Closer

He waited for the second set of buzzing from the phone.  The alarm went off at 4:30 am.  The young man wasn't sure what he was about to go do.  His vague impression was this adventure would be a labor of love.  He waited just a couple minutes in bed.  Awake but not mobile.  He had to stay put until his mind was clear and void of any desire for just five more minutes.

The train ride took longer than usual.  It struck the young man as a refreshing way to take the subway.  In the early morning, there were no crowds, and there was relatively no noise.  He freely poured into his book.  Everything went well until another young man boarded the same car and began strumming a guitar and singing and blowing a harmonica.  The performance was unwelcome at 5 in the morning.  The musician's tip can reflected the annoyance of the rest of the passengers.  

He rushed out of the Rockefeller Center station and headed for the line.  It was long.  83 people or more.  They slept on the sidewalk in Midtown Manhattan just for the chance to get a ticket.  SNL drew quite a dedicated and groggy crowd.  

He wished the alarm was set sooner.  He wouldn't know that until nearly the next day.  Nine people away from entering the studio, the young man learned that evening was to be spent somewhere else.

The Man with the Purple Feather Earring

The young man lived in a time of cultural fracture complete with a borrowed sense of nostalgia, senseless imagery, and cowardice.  New York City was the perfect place for him to view this bizarre show.  It was the cultural capital of America, if not the world.  Anything that happened in the world, New York forgot about it two weeks previous.  

Strange people flocked to the city, but that was as obvious as saying the sky is blue, water is wet, or football is simply the best.  For the most part many of the odd behaviors and fashions sported by New Yorkers faded into the background.  Some might warrant a momentary second glance.  Those generally fell into categories of hysterical tirades by old men concerning the subway turnstile and unusually, heartbreaking sights of homelessness.  On rare occasions though, there were noteworthy wierdos.

This was the first noteworthy wierdo the young man observed during his stay in New York City.  It also happened on the second day of October, commonly understood to be the spookiest month of all time.  This had nothing to do with the sighting.

The young man, his loving girlfriend Amy, her sister Amanda, and the friend of Amanda also named Amy (hereon referred to as Amy of Philly) had finished lunch at Quantum Leap in the East Village.  It was a delicious meal of vegan comfort food.  His black bean burger tasted better than most burgers he had regularly and it was bugger.  There was soy bacon on it too.  With appetites satiated, Amy, Amanda, and Amy of Philly informed the young man it was their plan to shop around the stores on 5th Ave.  He went along.  

An hour went by.  The last store overlooked Union Square which crawled with all kinds in the city twilight.  The young man waited outside.  It was here he spotted his subject.  

A man no older than thirty five stood in the middle of the sidewalk dressed head to toe in all black.  His clothes were made of fabric one would expect for exercise.  The pants were skinny and appeared coarse, velcroing tightly at the bottom of his leg.  He wore a rain resistant black top that could be found at any camping outfitter.  Upon his head was a black ski cap.  The ensemble came together wonderfully with the single purple feather earring he sported.  The young man thought he was a bike messaging pirate of some mysterious olive skinned nation.

The plot thickened like poorly attended molasses.  The man would pace around in a tight circle.  Every fifth women that would pass him he would approach them and say something the young man couldn't really make out.  The pirate seemed in search of booty.  He held a pen in his hand in order to get some phone numbers.  

Not a single woman even looked at him for fifteen minutes.  He would approach, get shut down, and then say, "That's cool.  Your loss."  He was shut down by at least fifty women.  

"He must be one of those pickup artist guys...what an idiot," he thought.

He was.

Goodbye September

Towards the end of the month, he was running low on funds.  The healthy stipend the university provided went quickly in New York.  New York invented expensive.  The young man promised never to forget this first and perhaps most important truth of his temporary home.

No more cab rides.  No more long nights out at the bar.  He knew it would be two months of cheap booze, free entertainment, and sloth like transport.  

He witnessed an uplifting sign to his new habits.  He left his fancy schmanczy show biz paper shuffle for the subway.  Talking to his friend several hundred miles away, he noticed two men get on the subway.  One had a red suitcase that had the wheels on the bottom, and the other held a plastic cup with two ice cubes in it.  The cup wore the wrinkles of extensive usage.  

"My god...a dirty bomb.  I'll call the MTA!" he thought all by his lonesome.

As was happening frequently, the young man let his imagination get hold of him.  The suitcase man removed a handle of Smirnoff Vodka and filled the cup with a shot.  The cup guy slammed the drink on a completely full passenger car.  Twice more this process went on.  Then the cup guy got off after only two stations.  

He would have explained this to his doting girlfriend, Amy, but she would have put it down in the "day party" category of lies and deceitful statements by the young man.