Grant Merci

It is easy to become caught in a hypnosis glance south past the park as an endless counter speeds in different directions. Its pace and confusion mirror the environment it holds itself high over. A noise worth investigating jolts my attention north to have my line of sight lock onto a timeless structure along some of the few double pathed straight lines. 

The cadence of the city changes as lights turn red and a hand is converted to a person. Cars wait restlessly while I cross from west to east weaving through the crowd making direct eye contact with people's scalps as I move from a park filled with free thoughts and movement for a chance to slip into a park inversed from the purpose of prison. 

The surrounding buildings change from tall and functional to distinguished and overdressed. The dates of establishments on their public-facing personas act as logos do on clothes to separate those who are not aware or understand the hieroglyphic social structure we are immersed in. 

Arriving in the new area with the hopes of entering a park results in failure with each pass around its small rectangular shape. There is no noise here as to believe money can, in fact, buy peace and order. The pacing stops now as I come to realize I will not enter this openly hidden part of th city. No one has offered to let me in with each smile or good morning I give to those that might have the key to enter. 

I lean up against the iron barricade to see the park empty.

I stretch my arms through the fence to feel the expensive shade before leaving, knowing this park will always look the same as New York rapidly changes.