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Under the Bridge

Allan Onik

    Nellie stood under the Greyshot Arch and took a drag of Mary Jane. His rags smelt damp and musty and the Central Park twilight made him reminisce his love for the city. Cindy joined him with her grocery bags full of empty bottles and balding pit bull. She sat down next to him on the bench and smelled the earthy plant smells.
    “I’ve got news,” she said. The herb was a dancing carnival in his soul.
    “What news?” Nel asked, looking up at the arch.
    “Chopper died. OD. Cops found him near The Carousel. I took his candy.”
    “No shit.”
    A pigeon landed near the brush and pecked at some seeds, then fluttered and flew away.

    The Homeless King took a bite of Royal Osetra Caviar. The Mayor had a taste of some Golden Imperial. Outside Le Bernardin Manhattan was bustling with the usual splendor.
    “I called you here for a reason,” The Mayor said, washing down the caviar with a sip of Pinot Noir. “Why are you doing this to our city? I know you hold strong ties to the nightly anarchy. These protests must stop. When can we find peace?”
    The Homeless King smiled. His rags smelled like sewage and he wore a golden rosary around his neck. “There are some who feel that peace may be a mirage. Healing a fantasy. If I told you and The President that the protests could end tonight what would that solve? A wound that festers doesn’t heal. An eagle that is blind doesn’t see.”
    “What do you want?” The Mayor asked. “It can be yours.”
    Light shone through the draperies and onto The King’s face. He sighed. “All who carry an NYPD badge must put down their Glock 19s. They must now use wooden batons. Also, I want an apology written in blue spray paint in front of the Charging Bull.”

    In the Oval Office the Attorney General dropped a note on The President’s desk. “It’s over,” he said.
    The President took two puffs from his Cuban. “Splendid.”

    Ash took a sip of Jim Bean and watched the rats eat from the wrappers near the dumpster. The morning in Cortlandt Alley was colder than the middle of the night, and his blanket smelled like urine. Chelsy crawled next to him in the crisp air.
    “Did you hear?” she asked.
    “Hear what?”
    “The new Palace is open. And we are welcome. Here, follow me.” The two ran through the alley, past the streetlights and into the lush green fields. The Palace was large, jeweled, golden, and glowing. They ran up the golden steps and into the surrounding streets, near the golden barked fruit trees and talented bards playing flutes and mandolins. “Let’s go inside!” she cried. And through the golden doors they went.

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