cm62 | fictionPeaches, and Louisiana LouTs Pink Grapefruits, looks asthough the upcoming winter may be its last. The pawnshop two stores down is the only thing on this streetthat thrives in these conditions. The rat of the animalkingdom, feeding off otherTs leftovers andbroken realities.As I step outside my graffiti tagged, water-damaged,paint-peeled, window-smashed one-bedroomapartment, the fresh smell of cigarette ashes, garbageleakage and burning fuel wake my zombie-like body forthe day ahead. But when your'e filling shelves at a usedbookstore all day, making eight bucks an hour, whoreally needs to be more than a zombie? Shelf after shelf,used book after used book, I see my dream of being awriter slowly overcome by dust, lodged thoughtlesslyinto the bottom shelf where no one looks.In the constant struggle and cutthroat nature of citylife, ITve become immune in my five years here to thehopes of a postcard picture life. The magic of New YorkCity has long faded into the smog overcast and overflowpollution. No longer does city-sliced pizza taste likecity-sliced pizza. Just pizza. No longer does the toweringjungle of building high rises amaze me. Just the feelingof cold shadows and constantly over-looming doom. |barely remember when hailing a cab or buying a hotdogfrom a street vendor was affordable and new. But nowitTs just the feeling of pennies sliding around my pocketas my six-speed and I cruise on past, into the stream.I can feel every sidewalk crack and every sewage grateas my black Schwinn rolls over the mini bumps on myway to oErnieTs Used and Abused Shelter for NeglectedBooks.� Like a constant game of cat and mouse, myriding weaves through the streets, avoiding all cars andpeople crossing. Between the buses filled with kids ontheir way to P.S. who-knows-what, and the toweringdouble-decker buses with megaphones blaring at NewYork newcomers about the rich history of what was oneof AmericaTs most famous cities, I go.oAnd to your left we have ~MorrisonTs Bank and Trust,the only bank on the block not robbed in the 1920s bythe famous New York mobster Joe Marvalli...ToNow if you look to your right, you'll see the remainsof a purple building. The reason it is half burnt downis because it used to be a meth lab for drug kingpinDonald Plum...�oStraight ahead you'll see a homeless person...TRed light after red light, I risk my soulless life as I flythrough the intersection, not ever daring to tap thebrakes. The idea of getting hit by oncoming trafficdoesn't faze me. It would almost be a sweet release, asmack to maybe knock me out of this trance the cityTsinner workings have cast upon me.SS4SSSSnm mo ~,lial Pats Ss" = _" " a 4=Pe SS