The Barclay’s arena had arrived in Brooklyn; the
neighborhood was polarized. The yuppies and weekend hipsters who lived in Park
Slope that were there for the schools and laid back neighborhood feel were
upset about the gentrification. The Brooklynites were happy to have Brooklyn
back on the map and new jobs; most of them weren’t alive when the Dodgers left
Brooklyn for sunny Southern California, and unemployment has been an issue as
of late. I think the stadium looks cool, but I hope the game traffic doesn’t
interfere with my life.
It is a wet, early October day; the city feels like a soaked
towel that wasn’t hung up evenly to dry—leaving it a bit damp and musty but not
gross enough that it was unusable.
I love fall weather—it allows me to layer my favorite
subdued-colored summer clothing under my light outerwear. I like to add a scarf
sometimes with perhaps a single stripe of teal—orange is too obviously fall.
Along with the arena has come a new Atlantic train stop
which allows you to avoid crossing Flatbush and Atlantic and having to walk
into a giant cookie cutter shopping center to get to the Q train.
I walked down into the chic, modern, and altogether pristine
underground station—it was probably the least dingy metro stop in the city,
just blocks away from my apartment. Oddly, no one seemed to be using this new
stop; I asked the MTA worker if the stop was open and he quickly said yes in
West-African accented English and then looked back down at nothing.
I was on my way to a start-up convention to meet other
pipe-dreamers like myself and maybe find some folks I could stand to work with
for a few months. It may have been beginners luck, but I helped develope a
guitar tuner app for Android called G-String that we ended up selling something
like 6.2 million of, plus got another 8 million downloads of the free version
with ads. The last two attempts, Qucklit (a micro literature reddit style app)
and Jokesters (a social app for comedians that allowed for joke exchange), had
both flopped. I was still living off my wonderfully simple and useful G-String
which made me just enough money to continue the lifestyle I became accustomed
to—for another 6 months or so… ‘It’s crunch time’ as they say.
The new, shiny, futuristic station conjured up images of a
perfect, sunny, colorful utopia—like the future of ‘Back to the Future: part
II,’ a movie I watched probably 35 times as a child. It was eerily empty,
though. Only 2 other people were waiting for the Q; they were both sitting on
opposite sides of a brushed aluminum bench near the track.
The guy on the left was a muscular black man with a bold
pinstripe suit and a bolder red satin tie—he looked like a football commentator
or a mayoral candidate from a second tier city.
The guy on the right was a skinny, crater faced and scruffy
white man wearing an old sweatshirt emblazoned with Cedar Point across the
chest as if it was a top tier university.
It was a five person bench, so I sat down in the middle
seat, maintaining an appropriate bubble of personal space on either side. I
soon became involved in both of their lives.
‘Lohn, I’m sorry but that’s fucking bullshit, you know how
much I have busted my ass these last two years. We all had shitty quarters,
even Apple had a shitty quarter.’ The Black man said in polished Midwestern
standard English seemingly to himself but in actuality to a 140 dollar
Bluetooth device in his ear. Apparently this new station has cell phone
service.
‘Lord, I have told you a million times, the procedures are a
due process of strict adherence. We must settle the scores and articulate your
greatness to all of mankind.’ The crusty white guy said seemingly to a god but
in actuality to himself, some consonants not articulated fully because of
missing teeth.
‘We have a second kid on the way, you can’t do this to me,
Lohn. I’m going to have to move Briggson out of the best school in the city if
you let me go. Can’t I go on some kind of probation or something, I’ve never
even gotten a warning.’ Briggson is a great son of yuppie name, all the more
hilarious because he’s black.
‘The time will come when testifying to the lord is all that
we can do, as the procedures dictate. Once we have lost all then we can truly
give ourselves to you, Lord. I ask you please to fulfill the duties that I have
read and read and read.’ I liked the strain of Buddhism that popped up in that
exclamation.
‘Thanks, Lohn—but that doesn’t really help me right now. I
appreciate your honesty but I don’t know what the fuck I’m gonna do now.’
‘Thanks Lord, you tell me of the great and glorious kingdoms
that await for the righteous, and I tell you of the love I have in this realm,
in this mirror of heaven.’
The light peaked out from the curve in the tunnel and a
rumble became audible.
‘Well I’m heading into the city right now, I guess I’ll try
and close up this last deal for you, but I don’t really see why I would.’ A
listening pause. ‘Alright thanks,’
‘And here comes thee great grace, I thank you for your
leadership and I will give you all my courage.’
As the train pulled up in front of us, the black man pulled
out his Bluetooth, muttered ‘fuck,’ and walked onto the train, the back of his
pinstriped suit a bit wrinkled from the stressful writhing he was doing during
his phone conversation.
When I got on the train behind the business man, I looked
back and saw that crusty old white guy was not getting on.
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