The sidewalk felt oddly flat under the soles of my shoes. Too perfect. The gaps between concrete slabs have been worn down, rims rounded off by passing city footsteps and hurried walking, but their edges remained rectangular and I didn't know how to reconcile this cavity within myself because it was obviously the wrong shape.
At the intersection, a young Hispanic man approached me -- could I take a photo of him and his friend? I asked him what he'd like for a background, and he pointed to the small church steeple on the opposite corner. Between the rush of peak-hour traffic and the resolute pace of people freshly released from offices determined to get home, I captured a tiny slice of time -- both of them smiling at the camera, slightly awkward but happy.
The city seemed full of unnecessary things. The shops were still open for another hour. We can't possibly need all these things. Once upon a time, we created images of ourselves from wire and wood; sometimes, we kept real mannequins in windows for amusement. Eventually, we replaced everything with plastic bodies. Now, we are busily replacing ourselves with plastics.
A truck driver honked out loud because the cars in front of him weren't moving. The pedestrians on the roadside yelled at him in protest. The cars didn't move. The truck remained stuck.
The light turned green, I looked up to see the young men I photographed crossing the street at the same time. One of them gave me a gentle smile. I felt an odd little twist inside.
I willed the roads to shrink and break down to rubble, the street lamps to grow branches so that the light they cast could be leaves under our feet. Of course, nothing happened.
Men and women walked, shopped, sat on terraces and drank afternoon coffees. Few were smiling. The season had turned and our souls went into hiding.
I see you in their faces. Yes, you. How they could have been all like you, all shameless with courage and exploding with dreams.