Myanmar and China battled it out for the main headline; whose chaos was worse, whose blood spilt thicker, whose lives were worth less? This fractured newspaper had just been delivered when Sam stepped out to begin his day. He didn’t pick it up, New York’s local papers being shit, but took note, as always, of the front page’s tragedies.
“Cyclone”, he said to himself and looked out to the East River, then, returning to the paper, added “Earthquake”.
But it was a beautiful day out. He lit a cigarette before walking to the subway and, as he exhaled slowly, thought: I really need to quit or, “Cancer” he said out loud, making it real. Yes, he could get Cancer, certainly; for three blocks he thought of every body part, every organ which would or could be affected. By the six block it was a collapsed lung, then at the seventh it was Emphysema.
The train arrived as soon as he did, which for some already constitutes a good day. Though it was still crowded, he didn’t have to wait and squeezed right in to the packed L. It breezed off towards Manhattan. Sam found himself pressing up against a young Arab man as the car descended below the water. Actually, a young angry Arab man–although everyone seem angry this early in the morning. But Sam was taking no chances.
“Terrorist attack” he said low, very low, almost a whisper, then added somewhat more loudly, “Or derailment”. He exited the train at the first stop, choosing to walk the rest of the way instead.
Another newspaper
greeted
him on
the other end:
Our economy
is in the
shitter, didn’t you know?Another newspaper greeted him on the other end: Our economy is in the shitter, didn’t you know?
“Starvation?” He asked the sky. Yeah, it was a long shot, but it could happen. He moved on through the crowded streets. According to most math, one of them, one of the people in the crowd, would die today. “Mugging, stabbing” he wondered aloud, rubbing up against the rich and the poor, the white and black, the satisfied and the desperate.
His office was a tall building, at least by downtown standards. Anyway, tall enough to fly a plane into it, maybe? But why? It wasn’t an obvious target for any terrorist.
“That’s the point,” Sam said as he stood outside, “It’s a surprise attack on a unlikely, unsuspecting, building.” But it had only one elevator and only one set of stairs, only one way out and he was on the second-to-top floor. He would be killed, certainly, no use even trying to plan ahead.
The elevator was crowded as usual and the slow, old, cranky thing crept upwards jolting occasionally which dispersed the stale air in new and different directions.
“Well, if it doesn’t drop” he whispered to himself, restating every morning’s constant fear, “There’s no end of diseases in this thing.”
But he didn’t get any diseases. And the thing didn’t fall. At least not today, he thought, arriving at his final destination, this part of the battle being won. He was safe at his desk, well, after he drew the cover down over the window, banishing the New York sunlight.
Have you considered Subscribing to all of this madness?
