Rain fell over the city gradually, a fine misting that became heavier as the minutes passed. The wind picked up and swept over a well-known avenue: Broadway. It pushed insistently on tourists’ backs and elbowed commuters in the face, howling as a school of umbrellas tried to navigate its way helplessly across the busy streets. Nylon material turned inside out here and there, the metal frames glistening like light gleaming off shimmering trout pulled from the water.
Small rivers, dark and polluted ran along the curbs, dragging reluctant garbage: gutted cigar innards, a crushed soda can, innumerable lost receipts, and tattered debris down deep into the sewer system. Steam rose from the vented subway grates and manholes, mingling with the chilled exhalations of the shivering crowds.
Rain fell over the city, trapping grit, car exhaust fumes, contagious microbes, and deadlier things that murmur to vulnerable masses in dark, recurring dreams. The rain fell with purpose, pulling it all into the waiting, gaping pipe-lined belly below.
I paused for less than a moment, coughed out my urban despair in desperation, and felt gratitude, unexpected relief.
