Saturday, April 25, 2015

Hell is Other People

At the end of the block, a guy stands under a streetlight, smoking a cigarette. The dog has stopped to inspect a fire hydrant, giving me the opportunity to consider him, and he me, from half-a-block away.

My heart beats faster, but before I have a chance to work out my escape plan, he's tossed the cigarette to the sidewalk with a casual flick of his wrist and walked the other way, leaving me with the metallic whine of adrenaline singing in my ears.

I think back to New Hampshire roads, late at night, walking in darkness with no one around and feeling safer than I ever feel on a street with other people in New York.

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