We were walking down that one random street, again. We didn’t even know what was on the street. It was just sort of the walking down it that appealed to us. And this was what we knew deep down, in our inner souls. It was like what God would do if he were fastened down to earth, but in a pedestrian (underwhelming, that is), guy-who-just-got-out-of-church-and-had-been-bored-in-there sort of way.
There it came again, pretty much always — another person piping mad like a steam engine making ramshackle your reality. Behind us, we could almost still sense the buzzing of all those neon lights, as if even they were in flight, remaining on the forgotten block of toys and mice. Deeper, and deeper, we sunk into the homeless man’s eyes who passed us, being seared by his need, basic and humanitarian, and then his animalism, wild, mischievous, uncouth and true.
We looked at each other, and we suddenly both seemed too big for our bodies, or like an avenue in our hearts had become obstructed by fathoms of goo and mire, like something impenetrable and that you’ll never get to see over — it was like the feeling that the sun could never burn bright enough, in 1,000 years, to erase all the hate, spite and disuse populated in our own town. And then we got to wonder, even if some photosynthesis were to take place, like some constant beacon harvesting peace and prosperity, would that even be enough.
To our left, and down the road, we looked, leaving it for the gun blasts. Night fell upon the town, with storekeepers sweeping in fronts, with television sets turned on in gusts of envy, and with an anger so deep in our fingernails and toes that language would never be the same again. Then, within the eminent eyes of one young girl twirling bubbles, or one welfare mom glaring African sun from a porch stoop, we would again see the immateriality of things, knowing accomplishment only in the impossible, in oblivion.