a day in central park

I meander through the park.  As I pass the duck pond a squeal of glee splits the brisk air.  An old woman in a gaudy floral head scarf sprinkles crumbs for anxious pigeons.  A little boy - under the pretense of innocently skipping stones- aims his throws at a mallard sitting serenely on the chill water.  A girl streaks after her brother begging for her doll. The siblings nearly bowl over a pair of lovers holding hands as they stroll, he’s probably only treating her this well so she will take him to bed.  I gaze, an outsider, and I realize, I hate this place.  The friendless old woman wasting a meal on winged rats. The animal assailant, the abusive brother. The couple trying to kill time between copulations. I despise it all. Nothing but a city full of obsequious pretence and fork-tongued lies. Suddenly I feel as though I’m suffocating. I run – sprint – to Grand Central and take the next train to the edge of the city, and spend the remainder of my cash on a Greyhound as far as I can go.