Electric Avenue is Everywhere
A story of sorts.
Electric Avenue is everywhere. The streets of New York are covered with silicon and copper, flashing electricity through everything. Everything is electric. The Brooklyn Bridge is a conduit of electricity. It hovers over the electrified East river, a conduit of electric waste. The Manhattan Bridge collapsed years ago, the Statue of Liberty crumbled ? but both are kept alive with electricity shooting through the ghosts of their frames.
You can walk from the Brooklyn Bridge to Clinton Street, turn onto Luquer and climb your stoop without ever seeing anything or anyone that isn?t electric, just as one boy named Saul is turning the corner right now, proudly gliding by on the brand new c-d board his dad got him for his eleventh birthday.
Halfway down Luquer, Saul pulls up. His board crackles. He is at the front of his stoop. Mom had told him to pick up some groceries, and he had flat out forgotten. She is very strict. He doesn?t want to lose his allowance. And so like any kid would do, he sneaks by. His head hangs low, his electrified hair sways in the wind.
Twelve years later Saul stands inside a cardboard room, insulated from electricity. Light flickers from a single candle casting a shadow over the body of a woman on the floor. She is curled up in a ball, her long brown hair is wrapped around her face and neck and tucked under her loose fitting shirt. She groans slightly, and mumbles something incoherently.
Standing over her body, Saul thinks back to the day he first met her. Back when his hair stood on end, when his skin was covered with a rubber coating, and his main concern was speeding through the streets on his board. He didn?t have his board that day. He doesn?t remember why. In any case, he ended up walking through the park, exploring the trees. He even climbed one, pressing a button protruding from each branch when the next one was out of reach. When he got to the top, he surveyed the park. The day?s lightning was particularly intense, casting an orange glow across all the trees and the grass, and the big brambly bush in the middle of the park. The bush was strange to him ?it grew. It?s leaves weren?t plastic or metal. They swayed in the wind, and sometimes fell to the ground. But then the bush shook, and she appeared with leaves falling around her, and he fell off the tree altogether. He crashed through branches, banged his head, and fell hard onto the silicon ground. He crackled. The ground crackled. The trees crackled. She walked up to him, and stared down. Her eyes were faint. Her hair was short. She was barefoot, and he could smell her bare skin slightly burning. He was stunned from the fall. He didn?t know if she was real. And then she spoke. She said his name three times. Saul Saul Saul.
And now here he is standing over her. He doesn?t say her name. He doesn?t speak. Instead, he crumples up some paper, knocks over the candle, then leaves the cardboard room. The moisture he left behind will evaporate quickly in the coming heat. Later this week he will be surprised at how much he can laugh when he is incredibly sad.
A story of sorts.
Electric Avenue is everywhere. The streets of New York are covered with silicon and copper, flashing electricity through everything. Everything is electric. The Brooklyn Bridge is a conduit of electricity. It hovers over the electrified East river, a conduit of electric waste. The Manhattan Bridge collapsed years ago, the Statue of Liberty crumbled ? but both are kept alive with electricity shooting through the ghosts of their frames.
You can walk from the Brooklyn Bridge to Clinton Street, turn onto Luquer and climb your stoop without ever seeing anything or anyone that isn?t electric, just as one boy named Saul is turning the corner right now, proudly gliding by on the brand new c-d board his dad got him for his eleventh birthday.
Halfway down Luquer, Saul pulls up. His board crackles. He is at the front of his stoop. Mom had told him to pick up some groceries, and he had flat out forgotten. She is very strict. He doesn?t want to lose his allowance. And so like any kid would do, he sneaks by. His head hangs low, his electrified hair sways in the wind.
Twelve years later Saul stands inside a cardboard room, insulated from electricity. Light flickers from a single candle casting a shadow over the body of a woman on the floor. She is curled up in a ball, her long brown hair is wrapped around her face and neck and tucked under her loose fitting shirt. She groans slightly, and mumbles something incoherently.
Standing over her body, Saul thinks back to the day he first met her. Back when his hair stood on end, when his skin was covered with a rubber coating, and his main concern was speeding through the streets on his board. He didn?t have his board that day. He doesn?t remember why. In any case, he ended up walking through the park, exploring the trees. He even climbed one, pressing a button protruding from each branch when the next one was out of reach. When he got to the top, he surveyed the park. The day?s lightning was particularly intense, casting an orange glow across all the trees and the grass, and the big brambly bush in the middle of the park. The bush was strange to him ?it grew. It?s leaves weren?t plastic or metal. They swayed in the wind, and sometimes fell to the ground. But then the bush shook, and she appeared with leaves falling around her, and he fell off the tree altogether. He crashed through branches, banged his head, and fell hard onto the silicon ground. He crackled. The ground crackled. The trees crackled. She walked up to him, and stared down. Her eyes were faint. Her hair was short. She was barefoot, and he could smell her bare skin slightly burning. He was stunned from the fall. He didn?t know if she was real. And then she spoke. She said his name three times. Saul Saul Saul.
And now here he is standing over her. He doesn?t say her name. He doesn?t speak. Instead, he crumples up some paper, knocks over the candle, then leaves the cardboard room. The moisture he left behind will evaporate quickly in the coming heat. Later this week he will be surprised at how much he can laugh when he is incredibly sad.
