a Mary Margaret Park original

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The winds cried; the sound hollow and distant, an echoing omen etched against the concrete and steel of the city’s streets -- A skyscraper cut up into the dark like a steel-blade, it’s penthouse owned by Gabrielle Antonelli, a ruthless yet cunning businessman; he sat at his desk, his view like a vast black and white photograph stretched out behind him - Mr. Antonelli motioned to his butler, Georges, and when he spoke, it arrived like gravel crunching upon pavement, “Georges, we have a visitor, see him in.”
A row of security cameras displayed a man in a trench-coat standing at the door, Georges opened it, flashing a toothy grin, “Hey John, come on in.”
The apartment was quiet except for the ticking of an old grandfather-clock. John walked into the richly decorated foyer then passed through a sunken living area. Gabrielle looked down from where he was sitting, "Ah, John, I didn't expect to see you until tomorrow."
"I know." John acknowledged, stepping up to Antonelli’s desk.
"Well anyway, you’re here now, so?"
“I have an answer." John sighed, leveling his gaze at the old man.
“Okay John.” Antonelli cocked his head to the side, "What's your answer?"
"No. “
Gabrielle raised his brow then motioned for Georges to leave, "Normally John, I'd shoot you right where you stand; but I’m curious. You have twenty-four hours left, why turn yourself into me early?”
John looked at the old man, his gaze like granite, "Eh…spare me the flattery.”
Antonelli stared into his eyes, “John, are you sure you don't want to use these final twenty-four hours to reconsider?"
"Yes.”
“Well I’ll be dipped in shit.” Antonelli reached up, scratching his head; he took a deep breath before continuing, "John, I admire you, someway, somehow, so have it your way."
"Okay, so that’s it?"
Antonelli shook his head once more, "That's it.”
Gabe waved a dismissive hand and John turned to exit. After the door closed, he swiveled his chair, leaning over the desk, “Hey Ricky, we'll be picking up John the day after tomorrow. Yeah, well be ready in the morning.”

*

The day began, obscured in familiarity -- Rain coat draped across his broad shoulders, John walked down the narrow sidewalk, clutching his morning newspaper; his tall reflection was a moving picture in the store front windows.
A truck passed over a nearby bridge in a ringing cadence of concrete and steel as the city rose to its full morning volume. He pretended to enjoy the scenery while pondering his long overdue presentation; his jaws ached like he’d been chewing on leather, Storyboards, I need to finish them for my presentation.
He passed a used bicycle shop and glanced inside the windows; rows of tires with tired spokes glided by; a coffee shop with green paint peeling along a faded window sill left a faint impression of Formica tables and the whisper of a pink skirt over shapely calves.
The morning sun was interrupted by the steadying flow of traffic.
Flashing across his face in a flickering pulse of shadow and light were the silhouettes of Nature’s first prized.
John passed a dark blue garbage dumpster sandwiched between two brownstone buildings; the smell of rotting potatoes and rancid meat rose high into the air. He hurried past, reeling his mind back to the task at hand, Storyboards; I need to finish them for my presentation.
Up ahead, an old man stood curbside; his grey-white hair dingy, ash like; tangled in dirty strings. His eyes were cirrhosis yellow; splattered with blood tracks. He blinked and focused on an approaching man clutching a newspaper, Cockroaches, cities full of them, the old man snickered. With untimely reflexes that belied his age, he lunged out and grabbed John by the wrist.
What the…
The smells of sweat, tobacco, and whiskey hung copiously in the air as he pulled John closer. “Devil’s…Devil’s Hide John…..” the man shouted, coiled in an ethyl-induced seduction.
“Let go of my arm.” John snarled.
The exaggerated grip loosened; John snapped his arm downward, twisting away; his right foot already stepping forward into a run. Grey London Fog trailing behind him, John placed as much distance between himself and the deranged man as he could. It's wasn’t until several blocks later that he slowed to a walk, Well, so much for storyboards.
A moment of distant city rumblings begot the encounter, how did he know my name?
A sign that read ‘do not walk’ burned orange spots into John’s eyes. He shook his head, clearing his mind, figuring he’d better find a place to sit.
Rest his mind amplified.
"Smooth Pall Malls" and “Bubba Buy’s Houses, Fast Cash” caught his attention as he ambled over, plopping his body down onto a nearby bench.
In silent demand, he expected for no one else to be present, strange morning…
Lurking behind, Devil's Hide re-entered his mind.
The swoosh squall of air brakes distracted him as the 5th St. Via came into view; the bus leaned drunkenly towards the curb like a Jack-in-the-Box on faulty springs, Devil’s Hide; storyboards; need to finish them for my presentation.
Before he realized it, he’d walked halfway up the bus’s steps, "Exact change; hurry it up, will’ya?"
John stared at the bus-driver for a moment then reached into his trouser’s pocket and pulled out lint plus several coins. His hand shook conspicuously as he deposited the bus’s fare.
The bus accelerated as John made his way unsteadily to the nearest seat. With an adjusted sigh, he sat down, throwing his head back; then closed his eyes. The steadier rock swooshes of the bus lulled him into an uneasy sleep.

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