That's why I live in New York. Mine is not an autonomous imagination, a short story by enoshsvoray. Date added: 2010-03-22. Times viewed: 540.
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- Intro: My first of many, New York inspired creations
I am an inspiration vessel of New York New York. The city shifts as if unrelated to the world. This island is moving to fast to be riding on top of a giant tortoise's back.
Hey mother fucker can't you fucking see I'm fuckin walkin over here? This kingdom is its own king. We are all simple servants of ourselves. This is a kingdom on the back of a giant chameleon as the streets of the upper eastside camouflages to a March color of a massive umbrella war zone at 5 AM, just before the undertakers collect the casualties. A brand new pinstripe suit had spent his first night sleeping in the subway. He had a job but one too many economies gone bad couldn't hire him anywhere. He still has a suitcase full of résumés and a pocket full of dreams but on his last dime he can't face his friends to ask for shelter, he attended too many years at Yale to pack it up and move to Texas. By the time he won't have a choice but to admit defeat it will be too late and he'll be a day too crazy to be recognizable or coherent. That pinstripe is a good man but a chameleon is just slightly faster then a tortoise.
As if there aren't enough people walking every which way trying to walk by the New Yorkers that are trying to walk by them- the window's reflections duplicates eight million reflections of the other side of the street windows. Thirty two million people walking every which way I don't even know which one of them is me, I don't even care as long as I am one of them. I could be a pinstriped homeless guy, I could be the waist management or a broken up umbrella torn to shreds lying on the ground in the splashing rain. I don't even care. I am merely a vessel.
I pass myself through midtown thirty two million or several times still thankful that I haven't grown oblivious to the fact that I am far from being weary of me. Still thankful that I haven't lost the ability to transform a pinstriped sad story into a self reflecting store window on a windy night of my peasant kingdom.
"...That's why I live in New York. Mine is not an autonomous imagination" Jay Mcienerney
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