Before and After

I give to you an experience in three times eleventy-one words...

I woke, showered, ate cereal. The office, closed. Precautionary, I thought. The apartment, powerless with no service. I had contingencies. I’d walk uptown and hunker down in one of the hundreds of coffee shops. This would pass in a blink of an eye, I thought.

I dressed, packed my bag, and began the trek. Past Houston. No cars, lights. Past the park where trees lay strewn about. Up 6^th, a few passersby. I ventured further. No Starbucks, McDonalds, Dunkin Donuts. No sounds of trains or planes or buses. Past 23^rd, I got a signal, and more texts than I could count. I had gone missing through no fault of my own.

 

Yes, I’m okay. I’m looking for somewhere to go to work. Are you crazy, they asked. I didn’t think so. Other texts told of the flooded tunnels, the 13-foot waves, the disaster-movie scenario of a submerged city. A misty rain obscured my sight.

A smattering of power past 34^th. Stranded tourists trying to catch cabs off a closed island. Some open delis, bodegas, their owners selling wares to the unprepared populace. They survived war and famine to open their shops, a friend said; a hurricane won’t stop them.

I made it to 57^th. The roads, closed, with cops ambling about. I saw the crane swinging in the wind atop a building.

 

I traipsed about for the day surveying the damage, made my way to a friend’s around dinner time to recharge my dying electronics. Please stay, he offered. No, I want to be in my own bed. I departed after dark and walked down 7^th.

Below 34^th, darkness descended. With rain covered glasses, I barely made out some figures until they were upon me. I imagined them to be zombies eying me angrily. I thought myself the proud idiot, murdered early in a B movie; I walked faster.

Just before descending into the abyss below 23^rd, a friend texted me, now you know what it’s like to be there before and after.

Beef Pork Fish

I give to you an experience in three times eleventy-one words...

‘Flushing? Like out towards Europe?’ I ask.

‘Oh, stop. You’re coming to Flushing. I want dim sum.’

I board, ride across the river. He steps onto the train at Sunnyside and grins at me. We banter.

‘I’m going to Flushing; you know it’s the home of the Mets, right?’ I whisper conspiratorially.

He gives me a look.

We exit, find the restaurant. They’re still serving dim sum.

‘You know what you’re doing?’ I ask.

‘Yeah, just look for stuff you like.’

‘Stuff I like? I have no idea what it is.’

‘You’ll be fine. Just smile and point.’

‘Are you kidding? How are you going to order?’

‘By smiling and pointing…’

 

A woman pushes her cart lazily, smiles at us, keeps walking.

‘Aren’t they supposed to stop?’ I ask.

‘Hush.’

Another cart approaches. A woman with bad teeth begins lifting trays off her cart with abandon, waiting for us to show interest.

‘Wait, what’s… wait… What’s that? No, that?’

‘You’ve obviously done this before,’ I quip.

‘What’s that?’ he points into the cart.

‘Beef pork.’

‘Beef or pork?’

‘Beef pork?’

‘Ok,’ he pauses. ‘And that?’

‘Fish.’

‘That’s fish?’

‘Beef fish.’ She thinks about it. ‘Beef pork fish.’

‘What!?’

‘Beef pork fish. You want?’

‘This is going splendidly,’ I interject.

He gives me another look.

‘You want?’

‘Yes, yes, give it to me.’

 

‘How’s your beef pork fish?’ I ask.

‘Not bad. Tastes like chicken.’

‘Nice.’

Another cart, another woman with slightly better teeth.

She points into the cart. ‘Yes?’

‘What is it?’

‘Hearse.’

‘Hearse?’

She nods.

‘What about that? Is that beef?’

‘Beef,’ she confirms.

‘Beef?’ he points to the same dish.

‘Beef Pork.’

‘Alright…’

‘And what was that again,’ I point to the first dish.

‘Hearse oof.’

‘Horse hoof?’

She nods. ‘Orse oof, you want?’

We look at each other.

‘Do you want it?’

‘I don’t know. Never had horse hoof.’

We start laughing. She grimaces, puts it down, scurries along.

‘Horse hoof, it is…’ I blurt, tears streaming down my face.