Walking through the downtown area, can't help but wonder if there are a dwindling number of days that this will all still be here. And then I chide myself for thinking so. The metropolis.
Streets nestled in deep chasms between skyscrapers wind their way to the water. The buildings are not daunted by the curves of the street. They absorb every dip, curve, hill, gulph and stand straight and tall.
The buildings shoot up from everywhere at severe angles to the sky. It is all grand. It is all epic. Searching for the top of a building makes my neck do a backbend.
Wall street. People walk with importance. People carry square bags and cell phones. They have destinations and look toward them when they walk. They wear badges that flap against their belts. They sit at outdoor cafes with their hands folded behind their heads, elbows pointing up. They concentrate on every word they say and listen with the same intensity. Their shirts are ironed. Their shoes are leather. Their hair is brushed into place. The sun does not stay on them for more than a moment before they step into a shadow, a building, an elevator bank, a meeting.
The metropolis. When you walk it eats your sound. The heavy engine of a truck, boxes being stacked and and wheeled to their destination, underground trains, faraway sirens, competing taxi cabs. The greater noise. It is what you hear, not the click of your shoes, the rush of your breath, the swish of your clothes, the grate that rattles beneath you as you walk on.
