Welcome to Gotham

Now-blackened gum peppers the sidewalks, finding its place amongst the cracks that etch their way through the aged cement walkways. A Latina woman crosses the street against the light while talking on her cell phone. “¿No, no, no, donde estas tu?” I hear her exclaim, frustrated. A car slows down to let her pass. Stoops of varying colors and conditions jut out from their respective apartment buildings, creating an eclectic mix of architecture. Those with flowers or metal embellishments try to emphasize their creativity and individuality just a little bit more than the next neighbor over. A Chinese man smokes a cigarette on the steps. He looks tired. There is heaping pile of black trash bags on the curb, guarded vigilantly by a once-loved ceramic lion statue that is now resting amidst a slew of other disregarded antiques, no longer needed by the Section 8 resident who abandoned it outside the project. Three little girls giggle together as they walk down the street. It is midday and they are in their pajamas, chattering in Chinese and staring as they pass a man attempting to woo pigeons onto his arms with a bite to eat. McDonald's is home to a crowd of all colors and tongues: black, brown, yellow, white, Chinese, Spanish, English. One African American man with a mustache and stylish shoes eats with his sunglasses on. Apparently the iconic restaurant now delivers its chemically-modified “food” to city residents. For free. Steak-n-Go makes great smoothies for $2.50, but the gate is down today and the store is closed. Someone there must observe Sunday as holy. The Subway is plagued with construction and riders are forced to spend an absorbent amount of time in the bowels of the city. Gotham's underground is damp, humid, and smells of all of the things that you dislike. Tile murals let lost riders know which station they are in. Advertisements are pasted up on the discolored tile walls. The ceiling drips next to a bench where a pair of broken sunglasses sits, abandoned like the ceramic lion in Chinatown. A beautiful woman passes by wearing a hijab. Another equally beautiful woman wears a mini-skirt. Above ground, buildings are as unique as people. Some are brick, others are metal and glass. Some have beautiful murals painted on their sides; one is of a Puerto Rican man who died at the age of 33. His family misses him. 

The city is alive.

It breathes; there is a rhythm to it. 

The waves lap the shores of the East River.