MY SOUL rests on an indigo night in the rainforest. Away from taxi cabs,overpriced delis, red lights and green lights. There are no economic theories here. Only a horizon that sits beyond the trees. There is no energy crisis. Only the tall glass of midnight oil sitting in the sky.
I sit at my cramped kitchen table, watching the clock drip past 3 A.M. Cigarette after cigarette breaks the boundary between me and the real world. I wait for the train to pass. A rumble in the jungle ever seven minutes, they say. There isn’t a perfect formula to living in this town, thus the need for 3 AM trains.
I forgot to close the bedroom door when I got up. Even as the light glares on her back, my wife doesn’t stir. She’s grown accustomed to these types of things. I used to be a salesman before I grew up, and I gave her the best pitch of my career. I wonder if any of my other customers are this miserable.
As all sorts of animals graze underneath,in and above the plethora of trees, it breaths again. It walks along the river to a pond that is as still as it is clear. It does not bother, nor does it consume any of the liquid inside it. All it needs to do is watch it.
A second train rides by. I’m going to be a mess at work. There doesn’t seem to be a place in this world where I can sleep. I need to work things out with the woman I chose to spend my life with. I need to quit smoking. I need to get through another night in Brooklyn.
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