Expressive Piece #2 [homework]

The City

(Dedicated to my twin)

                Smells wafted from every street corner a potpourri of hot dogs, burgers, grease, and fries coming from every small food stand.  Calls from vendors determined to convince everyone on the street that their food was better than that of every other vendor boomed, jumbling into the sound of one droning voice talking about one food or another.  In every direction, people rushed, caught up in the high-speed movement of the never sleeping city life.  Like little worker ants, they went to and fro, on cell phones, carrying bags, rushing for trains, pushing for front runner in the struggle for a taxi.  Never a second to stop, not unless they had somehow been convinced otherwise by the vendors that never seemed to stop yelling, their voices trained to never get horse or dry from years of experience.

The streets were no better, gridlocked in the morning from rush hour, and speeding along at high rates in the slower afternoons.  Continuously honking of horns, shrieking of tires and the yelling of taxi drivers were something to be expected and normally overlooked.  They were responsible for the cough one might experience while first coming to the city, unused to the higher concentration of gasoline in the air.  The only stops were for the unloading and loading of passengers and the exchanging of money likewise.

That was the way of the city was it not constant moving never stopping never sleep just keep going and going with the exchange and giving of money like some useless thing and the pattern just kept going and going and  going…

The movement was home to me, but at the same time foreign, it was where I longed to be but at the same time did not want to return to because while the city was fast pace and you could have the time of your life, it seemed like the little things were taken out.  The city, a place full of noise, which left the taste of freedom on the tip of the tongue.

There’s something missing something no quite right but I’m not sure exactly what it could be or who could find it because maybe its lost and can’t be found because maybe I can’t find it here…

Then, everything stops, like an ice cube on your skin bringing goosebumps.  No longer on a city block, no longer consumed but the constant speed, sitting on a bench in a small town in the middle of nowhere.  Lights from the small shops light the sidewalks while people stroll by.  They aren’t in a hurry.  People taking their time, in a rush to go nowhere.  The cars make the vroom sound that is as familiar as tires churn against the street, but the horns don’t honk and the tires don’t slam to a stop.  Everything is slow and gives one time to appreciate the little things.

This is what I miss this feeling that I never have to hurry because if I’m a little behind I can just make it up later and for now I can just relax and feel the nice breeze on my check and breathe deeply in with the cool, fresh air because this is what it’s all about isn’t it…

Then with a blink and shove to the shoulder, the world comes rushing back.  The city comes rushing back and we’re not in Kansas anymore, are we?  Fast pace kicks in again and must move forward and not regret what we have lost or what we want.  We have to move with the crowd, or be run over by it.

Smells wafted from every street corner…