His father was in New York; “stopping at some joint or other,” he told himself.

Just like that New York was dampened in all its glory and splendor. It was as if there was no escaping Cordelia Street. Evidently it was following him. Paul racked his brain while both hands ruffled through his hair in a stitch of short irritation. It was a waste to sit there in such a grand hotel room and sulk. Why wait to be dragged to the darkest corner of the world? Especially after a weekend away from all the ugliness to experience true living and tasting freedom. He found it pointless to collect his things other than the few bills that remained from his little adventure. It would be enough for a cab ride and perhaps a meal.

What weighted on Paul’s mind more than the hangover was the reality of how dark the world was around beautiful New York. He witnessed the evolving change at the heart of the city that promised a vivid bright future. It was too soon. There were no paved paths to follow for an escape that led to anywhere promising. New York was the gateway, and by cruel fate he was locked outside, made to watch.

After pulling his wandering mind back, Paul got himself up on his two feet and walked out the door. The depressive veil hung over him like a second skin; clinging tight sucking away all fleeting attempts to hope for a positive outcome, a new escape.
As Paul weaved over the streets of New York in deep thought when a train howled from somewhere far off. The blaring horn was haunting and sounded sad.

Just as Paul stood there a thought came to him. There wasn’t a reason why he couldn’t stay. He wouldn’t enjoy the rich pleasures and luxuries of what New York had to offer but within the city he could remain; he could be alive. A spark lit deep within Paul’s hollow soul. Warmth filled every chamber, even down to his chilled fingers and toes. Paul pressed his back to the base of a stone marble building, slid down to sit and hugged his bent knees to his chest. There he stared up into the sky at the skyscrapers reaching towards the Heavens and sun challenging their limit. He stared at the crowds that walked in rushed paces in designer styles, glamor, and pride.

                There Paul sat. A stain in New York just as Cordelia Street had been the ink seeping through his existence. He would breathe New York and over time New York would become the dream catcher for Paul’s wandering fantasies and nightmares. Within this city he felt safe. A merciful peace swept over Paul carrying away his worries. He was still shaded by gray; still gripping through dense fog for a rope that wasn’t there. But it was okay, he thought to himself as a smile cracked over his face.