The Lull2




Coming to the end of the side street he hangs a left and is greeted by absolute silence. He takes a few steps before slowing down and stopping. He looks up and down Broadway. The only sound is the buzz of the street lamps, and his smoke ravaged breathing. He stands perfectly still, his eyes darting furtively around in their sockets. Walking again. Glancing around. The sushi restaurant is empty save for a lone bartender polishing a glass, and the sixty-five inch tele-visual monitor on which plays a sumo match. Forward. Coincidence, he thinks. Still no traffic. Still no people. The only sound, that of his footfalls. The coffee shop, usually spilling over with people, is deserted; the staff inside wandering in a daze trying to look busy. He drops his cigarette butt to the sidewalk and gives it a stomp. Stopped. The red hand on the walk light is telling him not to proceed. In a few seconds he wonders why the hell he’s standing there, and crosses the street. Finally, up ahead he spots a lonely figure standing in the chill of the night streets. The man is in his forties, bearded, his eyes full of pain. The man reaches out and begs for some change. He shakes his head “sorry” and offers him a cigarette. The man gratefully accepts. The flash of the bic lighter as it blazes to life, it’s child-proof metal band discarded, snapped off weeks earlier when he was sitting in the pub with his friends. They sat in a corner booth, drinking pint after pint of ale, laughing, smoking. As the evening continued it was an easy, simple decision to break off the offending piece of politically correct technology than to continue struggling with it. One by one those gathered went their separate ways until only he and The Monkeyman remained. And then they drank. And all was good with the world for the next few hours. It was just like old times. The bearded man looked into the eyes of the younger one and took a drag off his cigarette. Then it was “thank you and god bless” and he was off again into the quiet night. Finally, a Porsche roars down Broadway. He jumps, looking over his shoulder and follows the speeding car with his eyes as it screeches, disappearing around a corner. A group of rowdy frat boys erupt from the front doors of the brewpub, yelling, singing, cursing, fumbling with their car keys. As his mind takes it in, tears well up and a feeling of extreme melancholy overwhelms his spirit. The lull was over.