I found myself moving speedily down the un-peopled street. Yes, it was cluttered with debris, and piles of dirty snow, but at this time of early morning, the sidewalks of my hometown were deserted. The city that never sleeps is a misnomer. It does sleep, albeit in fits and starts somewhere between the waning moon and the approach of dawn. It was frigid and I huddled as deeply as possible into the hold of my ankle length down coat for warmth and comfort. It covered an assortment of sins. My half naked body, and what remained of my clothes tattered and torn. A jagged cut at my dainty ankle. The imprint of a heart shaped kiss above my navel.
My feet ached as I dashed in my well-worn pointy dress shoes down the side streets and across the avenues. Heading uptown in search of an on duty cab at five in the morning is almost as tough as finding a seat on a Manhattan bound F train at eight thirty in the morning. The off duty signs shined bright against the haze of dusk as one after the other sped past me. I was betting on Houston Street. For down at the mouth of Howard and south across Canal was no place for a woman in my condition to wander unescorted at daybreak.
He had warned me years ago about the mouth of Howard. Taking on airs, and pretending to be an orator of sorts, one hand to his heart the other raised in praise of the fickle corner in a fickle city. Abruptly, he had taken me into his strong arms and kissed me with a previously unmatched force. Right there in front of the abandoned municipal building at the corner of Howard and Broadway. The stirring in my groin from the kiss reverberated through each limb and system of my young body. The mouth of Howard, he whispered, as his kisses played against my throat and he wrapped his fingers in my long wavy locks tugging playfully.
And now my hair asunder with loose strands falling as wisps across my pale face, I sought my escape from the hold of that sultry vortex. My body moistened as the evening's activities swarmed and blasted my psyche. "Fuck me," I growled to myself as the truth of my duality hit like a ton of bricks. I was the women cavorting at the mouth of Howard, as much as the woman now seeking refuge in a cab promising me passage back to Brooklyn.
At Houston I caught a cab heading east towards the river. My driver was of North African descent. Not black, nor white but rather a variability to his coloring like swirls of milk chocolate. His native tongue, his tongue of secondary school and now the tongue of his adopted country blended together to create a unique cadence; Arabic mixed with French mixed with English. His voice created a beat that pressed up against the low hum of the automobile as we traveled the roads back to Brooklyn.
Back to Brooklyn! I pressed my nose to the window and felt the cold, as I watched the sky turn hues of golds and oranges and reds. My eyes at half-mast, the lull of the cab urging me towards sleep, I found myself in that restive place between slumber and awake, dancing in the waves of my lovers' bounty.
He had lured me from my post at the back corner banister with his sparkling eyes and meaty hands. I suppose I had come to dance, but had fooled myself up until that very moment of invitation. An observer on countless evenings prior I was, blended into the fabric-covered walls of my special corner. Inevitable perhaps. For he and I had acknowledged one and other on prior occasions. My heart guarded and my armor up in order to fend off his advances. It was in the moment that I let down the walls, caught reliving a moment of delight from earlier in my day, that my laughter and light heartedness seeped out and swirled across the dark hall. And as if a messenger, my light knocked against Mr. Sparkly Eyes and Meaty Hand's psyche.
