For a Sunbeam

All the windows of the cab were down; I didn't have the heart to close them as we flew over the Williamsburg bridge. The wind swirled my hair in a storm, but what did it matter? The night over, who would see? Quiet, sleeping Bushwick streets quickly gave way to a dark skyline, and the Empire State donned its alien halo; I remembered all those nights spent in the Greenpoint loft, staring out at that ring of light as the rest of the building had gone to sleep. The skyline is always so reassuring to me. We drifted softly into the Lower East Side, I was back on solid ground.

New York parties quickly grow so old. Sizing each other up over drinks and what do you do, what can you do for me? What will I gain by knowing you? Forgetting the beauty in meeting people for being people. Mountains of coke and carelessly walking around barefoot, picking up professions and the Power of Free Will as though we were raised without history, without context. I tire, return to the group with whom I belong. Roll another cigarette and contemplate the uselessness of fireworks.

I return home to a clean apartment. Where the explosion of the last few weeks has been cleared away, collected, demoted to the recycling bin. Only my bones are weary. I set my alarm for an early hour, do the math in my head, balk at the tiny figure. Outside, a new moon works its magic. I stare at it, tired, indifferent, cynical, and I fall asleep.