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March 20, 2011

Jubilation“This will never work, this will never work…” he mutters to himself, shoulders hunched and hands pressed deep in his pockets. He barrels through the pedestrian traffic on 1st Avenue, staring at the city horizon. In his left hand, his phone is crushed silently in his fist until the knuckles stretch the fabric of his black jeans. He picks up his pace as the light on 43rd street turns yellow: “no time, I have no time!”  On the other side, a woman gasps as he rushes past her, swinging her bag of cereal and apples to the side to clear a path. Her head jerks back ogre-like to flash upon him a parting odious glare.

The phone rings, just as he reaches the next street corner. He fumbles to extract it, slamming it against his cheek. A pause on the other end, and then, “she made it.” Suddenly, uncontrollably, his hands shoot straight up, his neck locks backward, and he roars at the sky above New York. The phone takes wing.




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