The harsh wind blows hard across my face, stinging it with pain like one thousand needles piercing through my skin. Voices of bargaining and screams of children fighting with their mother, and siblings fill the air and seep into my ears, and through my head. The smell of fresh and warm bread flows out of the Golden Carriage bakery on Catherine St. It warms my face, and fills, my nose.
A man, lies next to a shut down building. He is on his side, surrounded by his bags, seeking for comfort from the cardboard he lays on and the many layers of clothes he wears. The man’s beard flows out like a cat’s whiskers except there are a lot of the whiskers and shorter. His eyes, sad but filled with courage and bravery.
I touch the cold metal of poles, and cars on the street. I am happy with the simplicity, and reality of the world, of the cold air and feelings of people.
A woman, with sorrow, and lifelessness in her eyes, just sits there across the street next to the big bank. She stares at the people walking by in front of her. But it seems as though she is in outer space, drowning in her worries, and bad happenings.
People talk out in the open. Many yell to talk over the loud voices of others. They push to get to where they need to. Crowds are everywhere, many merely waiting to cross the car-filled street. Others just are waiting in front of the stands trying to by food. Doors everywhere open and close. I turn over the corner and walk down the street into my destination, the Chatham Square Branch Library on 33 East Broadway.
I always wonder, every time I go through there, my neighborhood on Catherine St., many people are with glee, some look mad and few sorrowful. Then, out of curiosity, a thought pops out of nowhere. If this is just 2 or 3 blocks out of Chinatown, in Manhattan, then what about the rest of the city, the state, the country, even the rest of the world?