I interrupt WikiSearch app. On second thought, I really don’t need to know.
Sergeant Johnson looks at me. He cocks his head like some kind of intelligent bird. It’s clicked. He knows that I see him.
“Please,” he says reaching out. I walk past. He follows. “I’m hungry,” he says. I keep walking. He reaches to touch my shoulder. I jump away and he screams, grabbing his head. I exhale. At least ProTect app is still functional.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you,” says the beggar, but I am up the stairs and in the building.
I lay on the sofa, head spinning, waiting for sleep. I post #badday and there is a wave of #sosorrys, what’s wrong?s, #poorbabys, Kitten pix, Puppy pix, Frowny faces, inspirational quotes, and #feels on my wall. An email pings in. It’s from my mother. Subj: Opportunity/joys of motherhood. There’s an attachment, an advertisement for a surrogacy firm.
#notreadymom. I need updates. I turn DreamWell, and (poof) I’m out, dreaming an archived file.
The shop is old. My grandfather picks up something large and square. Dust flies, and I sneeze. “I remember these. My grandfather had these,” he says chuckling. “Watch this.” He pulls a black circle from the rectangle, puts it on something and flips a switch. The circle spins around and around. There’s a noise like fingernails on wood. Then, music starts. There’s no digital fixing, no lyrical translation, no tempo control; it’s scratchy and all treble, the woman’s voice is too shrill and in a language that I don’t understand. The song melancholy but joyous, sober but whimsical, flawed but... (poof) DreamWell pulls me into the next archived file. But there’s something about the song, and I want to linger, to listen. DreamWell won’t let me. Dwelling in files leads to obsession, and obsession leads to bad sleep, and bad sleep leads to low levels of something or other. LifeCoach works in concert with DreamWell and I’m pulled into the next archived file, then the next and the next, until I wake up in the morning, fully refreshed
I roll off of the sofa, LifeCoach playing a light piano ditty in the background. “You have 165 new notifications, none of them urgent,” it says. “Have patience, you can check the notification underway to work. For now, enjoy the perfect morning.” I look out the window. Sunlight glints off of a pristine layer of snow coving my Art Deco wonderland.
#snow #newyork1950s #pureperfection
ProGusto has huevos rancheros ready and waiting in the kitchen.
AllGourmet level 5, #wow #pureperfection #timeforwork
Opening the door, I see people passing on the sidewalk, their feet leaving no impressions in the immaculate whiteness. I listen to the virgin snow, crunch, crunch, crunching beneath my feet as I walk down the stairs. It’s the only sound in this muted, winter wonderland, and...
And something is missing, something that was here yesterday, but not today.
Opera music.
I find the crisply painted fire hydrant tucked into a corner of the alcove.
“Hello?” I say. It doesn’t respond. “The snow is beautiful. Why aren’t you singing today?” I ask. The hydrant remains silent. There’s something wrong. It should be singing, moving, doing something.
“Hey,” I say. “Hey?”
“Everything alright?” interrupts a voice from above me.
*Ping – Juan da Silva Torrão, 47, lives in apartment 12J.
He peers down into the alcove at me. I know what he’s thinking.
#losingit #crazy
“Yeah. I just dropped something,” I say.
“Okay,” he says and walks down the stairs, foot prints disappearing as he goes.
The fire hydrant remains still, just sitting there as if frozen stiff.
Frozen stiff.
But it’s not that cold, is it?
“Heart rate increasing, blood pressure rising. Time for a break,” says LifeCoach. It starts playing a light piano ditty again. The best choice is to just walk away. Don’t get involved, I think. Just call the city. They’ll send someone out in a jiffy to pick it up.
It...
I take a step away from the fire hydrant.
Crunch, goes my foot into the immaculate white sheet.
A second crunch.
Five more. Crunch, crunch, crunch, crunch, crunch. I turn. My foot prints are gone. There’s only virgin snow between the fire hydrant and me. No trail of incrimination. I could leave now. When I come home later, (poof) the problem will simply disappear as readily as my footsteps.
“Blood pressure...”
I interrupt LifeCoach. Is he really frozen or just acting? It this some pity game he’s playing to get free food? Before yesterday, I didn’t know he existed. But now I’ve seen. Now I know what’s in that corner, cold and not moving. Oh God.
#terriblebadnogoodstupidstupidstupididea
But I have to.
As iPerceive shuts down, sunlight turns to shadow, pure snow turns to trodden slush and the silent hydrant turns to a shivering man, curled under a blanket in the only dry corner, and I...
#waitaminute
Shivering?
He’s alive?
