With Headphones in my ears, I attack the night-hewn city, and drop effortlessly into the mouth of the late, rush-hour bustle. I know the streets and spires like a canvas that my own hand painted. The cheap Chinese shops nestle next to the spike of the trans-America triangle.
I go to the number 22 and mash myself into the unknown mess of people. I’m careful to crowd the exit as we climb from 35th to 30th to 25th. We careen from stop to stop as I watch my ipod carefully, and the crowd grows. I touch my screen to change songs and forget where I scurry. At 16th and Valencia I finally leave the metal cocoon and prepare my avatar for a night of tricks and underground parties.
Tonight I baby my wounds, all dressed in black down to each nail. Tonight my career will wreck the crystal of a few seedling hearts. I listen to the hum of the district, knowing full well that my fish-netted legs attract the gaze of many of the surrounding men. Tonight my cry makes a spiral to the moon as I love whichever hands touch me first. Tonight others will gape at me. Tonight I forget that I am just a tube letting things in one end and out the other. My branch will heal some other time.
