a street full of people, scurrying around. is sheher mein har shaks pareshaan sa kyon hai, the song plays. i miss my mp3 player now.
it snowed a a few days back. the largest snowstorm in the history of New York, they tell me. Not that it matters too much. the snowmelt leaves telltale puddles everywhere on the street. i see glimpses of myself in them.
he sees me approach and immediately picks up a freshly-baked bagel. its funny how sometimes strangers seem to know you far better than people you have known for years. in it goes, into the bagel-slicer, the guillotine. swooosh. hacked apart for my eating pleasure. he picks up the lopped off head and proceeds to lavish butter on it, humming a random ditty as he does. golden butter that doesn't stand a chance. it submits itself unconditionally. melting against the hot surface and becoming one, permeating every part of the baked delicacy. obliterating its own existence and blending into another's. if only people were so unconditional.
i stand at the street corner, picking it up by the edges. butter trickling down my thumb, reminding me of what i'm about to savor. one last shimmer as it disappears into oblivion.
a taxicab roars by, a wet and muddy old man muttering nasties behind it. i smile.