midnight throne on Bowery

We were the house guests in no need of a house, on the side of the road we reclined. I engaged my new companion with warmth, whose future was grim, because a creaking disassembly would eventually follow. We both knew this, but for once we didn’t care. Because now was finally now.

Huddling as one, we shimmied our forms to retch an old language. Our smirk, now extolling that tiniest snap borne of our fusion, would be all too brief. But at least it was loud to us. Since “coming” and “going” had always been flanking, this time we made them wait and watch without comment. Our evasion was something new to them, they had no time to react. We had slid in between destinations. We had squirmed deep inside something fresh, a pocket they would never reach.

Temporarily we would become foreigners in our city, and this by virtue of our new friendship alone. Few cars passed, and when they did they did so swiftly. Pedestrians were even rarer. Nobody else noticed us, the newly aligned sidewalk-dwellers. Raw cordiality was gently visiting, now in the most windswept of places. Our chirp, fated to vanish like a fleeing apparition, rose above the gurgle of occasional taxi engines. But we were the only ones who noticed. Neither I nor my friend moved another inch, and our calming of minds was in tandem. Now was our time to think…

Minutes passed, till impatience tingled, and I dislodged my body. My home contained warmths that remembered my name, and spoke it. Rising, I nodded to my new acquaintance, and took a step backwards. The portrait I snapped was returned with a smile. Pivoting into motion, not looking back, I beelined towards shelter. Panting to catch up, “coming” and “going” rejoined my stride with muttered curses. So again he was still, the friend I met once, that midnight throne on Bowery. Left to watch for traffic, he would be gone by dawn.



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