The City Breathes
New York is a stark mistress.
Her street lamps blink awake after a long day’s rest – illuminating her features.
Her streets grin wickedly with the glint of a recent rain.
Her edifices tower, glaring with millions of eyes – seeing everything with a removed disinterest.
The traffic exhales smog and shouts. Ambulances and fire trucks utter cries of urgency. Police cruisers yell with shrill authority. Buses sigh in oafish melancholy as they trundle from stop to stop. The taxi and car chorus whines an impatient fugue.
Trains intone their rumbling chant, stopping frequently to let out a strident scream, only to resume their chant with an exasperated sigh.
Manholes burp hot steam, which mingles with the traffic’s smog.
The haze lightly caresses the city, being augmented all the while by the hubbub below.
The grimy mist and chaos converge and convect.
The city breathes.
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