Episode 6.
IN BUSHWICK
I never liked Bushwick all that much. I think it had something to do with the name. “Bush” and “Wick.” What does that even mean? My cousin had a loft out there that was impossible to get to because of L train problems. After an hour of traveling all you’d get for your efforts was a bunch of factories and 22 year olds. I liked walking through the remains of it even less.
As it got darker I could see fires spread out over the horizon. There were dozens of bright spots in the blackness. Manhattan was dark though. It didn’t look like there was anything burning there.
I kept moving southeast towards the red beeping light. Every so often I’d stop and try to find a landmark in all of the wreckage. The foundation of a church, or the framework of a new condo development. But, for the most, part the landscape was just chaos.
I’d walk on a street for a block or two, only to have it swallowed up by buildings and debris. Everything that everyone ever had was broken into countless pieces and blowing with the wind. No sneakers though. Would you believe it? In all the mounds of crap, not a single sneaker.
I kept moving forward and checking the monitor. The blip would move a bit, but it was random. For the most part it just stayed in the same place.
Somewhere around Bushwick and Grand Ave I turned a corner to see him standing in the middle of the street.
He was a Spanish man, around five feet tall, somewhere in his thirties. He looked at me in disbelief for a moment, and then quickly began speaking to me in Spanish. He was hysterical. Screaming stuff at me, while moving his hands around his head like a wild man.
“Woah. Wait up,” I said, raising my hands. “English? Do you speak English?”
He shook his head and made a grimace. “No.”
Then he pointed his finger at me. “Tu?”
I shook my head. “No.”
A moment later we both nodded our heads and said “shit” at the same time.
