Walking in off the street, you'd expect the normal disarray of government run agencies in ghettos with papers all over and long lines. Unfortunately, at Hell Gate, you don't have the same mishmash, and it's much more sequenced and orderly. Separate lines for separate functions, and plexi-glass windows that are secured for the safety of all personnel, even down to the package receipt windows with controlled locks. Hopefully, you weren't really thinking of getting through that loop-hole that don't exist.
The ceilings are high, the building spacious, so much empty space that is unused. So much distrust of the non-erased peoples, items all beyond reach because manners and civility do not truly exist in such a place. Not true civilization anyways.
Transactions proceeded, and life moves on. On the train inwards, the population also transitions, gently disappearing from sight. In the supreme absence of humanity, I sense an overwhelming sense of optimism flowing from the ether. It rushes over, envelopes me, and gently constricts my lungs and nerves, gently lulls me with its suffocating grip, quietly leads me to the light at the end of the tunnel, to the peace that I've been told to search for, to reach into that light and disappear.
Only for my eyes to reopen and stare at that figure in the bathroom looking back at me in silent blissful misery. It smiles gently, and we know that wickedness is our ultimate pleasure in the end.
*Tribute to NJ.
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