Doesn't help that it's also Friday and it's shit weather out.
I sat my duffel bag down on the sidewalk, trying to put on my backpack, beside the rushing of pedestrians. Practically standing inches before the road, I was afraid of some looney cab to hit-n-run me but I quickly paid no attention to my surroundings when I reminded myself I had to call my cousin.
Sometimes this city makes me crazy. The people in this town has full affect on you; how you eat, how you think, how you react to things around you. It's probably one of the only cities in this country where being an asshole is practically a god-given right. Immorality, apathy and fear linger not just in the darkest of corners but also in dead sight on the streets.
They don't give change to the homeless, they gawk at schoolgirls' skirts, they give you a look and think to themselves whether or not it's worth it to take your innocence; this city, like almost any other, is dirty beyond dirty and to find someone who can walk through this mess with the cleanest of clean conscience is a rare find.
But after getting annoyed with the way a mother was talking down to her cranky toddler son, I couldn't help but think for moment, "what the fuck is this world turning into?" In my mind, in those few seconds, I rush past memories of my hatred toward the world and its inhabitants; I rushed past the thoughts of changing the world in the flick of a switch, the yearn to see no more immorality in this world and for the world to finally get the answer its been looking for. I was ready to burst out in anger, wanting to rid the streets whatever it was that was bothering me. If we're not getting an answer soon, then I'll have to take matters into my own hands. But in the instant of me reaching for the mantle, I noticed a person who may have been a sign.
He wore a dull green military-style jacket, buttoned and zipped to the very end; wore dark denims, a brown beret and aviator sunglasses and he emerged gracefully and with patience from the frantic souls around us. His posture was upright and at ease; his movement, without haste and his hands, behind his back holding at the wrist. He walked through the people without being touched and avoided eye contact, yet his mannerism seemed observant, surveying the world that he also has a connection to just as I.
But the most interesting little detail on him wasn't the jacket or the odd use of shades on a very cloudy morning or his calm expression, it was the brown leather gloves rested on his shoulders tucked neatly under the jacket's shoulder loops with the fingers pointing forward. It seemed as if some bigger-than-life entity was behind him, physically guiding the mute man through our world unseen, yet the only evidence of any such being would have been the hands rested on the man's shoulders. It was then that I thought the man was some sort of... angel. Some sort of clue to a possible answer to my soul's endeavoring questions.
Where could this man have come from? What has he seen? Who do those hands on his shoulders belong to?
I tried to avoid his presence by paying attention to a continuous ringing on my cell phone. The voicemail started but I stayed on and peeked around the bend of my frames at the man being guided by an entity. It was weird. He left not a trace, not one sound from his heavy brown boots, nor a scent of cologne. Nothing. He was merely a man guided by his conscience surveying the world just as I.
On the corner I looked behind me to catch a last glimpse of this mysterious fellow from the abyss and he was gone.
weird, huh?
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