In the City, everything is crooked. The buildings, the window sills, the cops. The cars all have unlocked doors, so you don’t break the window trying to get in. The grand railroad station is in Gotham style, and the old Hotel has air conditioners and bed covers from the seventies. I walked up the Avenue, and the men on the other side crossed over. My car is rusty, appropriate, a ‘92 LeSabre. And the men get in, trying to steal my radio, the original stock tape deck, and my purse is in there, with fringes, because this is the style “accessory” this fall, and zippers. They stop me, and the whole thing seems quaint like a New England town with knots in it. I get in the car to grab the purse and help them access the radio if they still want to. But then they want more, want kisses and things, and one of them is leaning in across the passenger seat while I’m on the driver’s side, they don’t say “Honey” or any things like that you’d expect from a mugging or else assault. I get the 4 wheel rolling skate out of the way and press the gas pedal, and the man is hanging out, hitting the curb in beats, this is the intersection where I once got blow. I drive too fast for him to hold on, get back on the Interstate, and there is a yield sign and detour, because the Baseball Stadium is crowded tonight, because our Team is winning tonight, though the pitcher is starting with a torn shoulder. Things are leaning a little, and it’s like Ellis Island with its new dreams, and the Restaurants have hour-long waits, and the people from the suburbs are up.
Anna Prushinskaya’s fiction recently appeared in Redivider and Sonora Review. She is also the Midwest editor of Joyland Magazine. Find out more about her here.