Assault

As a young woman from a small town who moved to the big city, I am every day surprised by the sheer volume of threats to my person.

I. Auris

Screeching snakes gleaming silver, the elevated trains careen around corners on rusted

red tracks.

Every day, the same grizzled man with the same dented and corroded alto saxophone plays the same tired “La Cucaracha” in short staccato stints honking off the broadsides of buildings.

Cars and buses and trucks and cabs scream their impatience in traffic with short beeps and long horn blares when movement happens a moment later than desired.

Men and women, young and old, hold booklets and posters and sandwich boards proclaim to passers by their chosen deity or politician, interchangeable.

Selfless souls share their favorite music, dropping deep pounding rattling bass through the open windows of their cars.

Dirty, vacant-eyed men huddle on corners begging for coins or wander down sidewalks shouting at nobody - the city’s so loud they have to yell to hear themselves think.

Ominous high-pitched OOOOO of ambulance and WOWWW of fire truck as they push their way through intersections, rushing to emergencies at 10 miles an hour.

 

II. Oculus

Streets and sidewalks indistinguishable from one another, covered in trash and soot and oil and grime and slime and water and brown gravelly snow.

Glaring garish modern wonder, lights on cars and trucks and buses and trains and hotels and stores and signs and bus stops and even high in the sky on planes; a cacophony of colors erupting from concrete and metal.

Everywhere concrete and metal and stone and almighty-god Plastic - no sight of green growing things or Nature’s own children save for pigeons and English sparrows, rats on the wing.

Not being able to see any of it at all because of the fog off the lake in the early morning or the late evening or in the middle of the day - so thick it covers in milky smog.

 

III. Nasus

Sickeningly sweet, dangerous scents wafting from hulking green dumpsters in back alleys and side streets.

Greasy hamburgers on the flattop grill at 7am on Tuesday morning at the corner fast food joint.

Astounding sour flatulence spurting from sewer grates and manholes on the curbs at the feet of pedestrians waiting anxiously for lights to change.

Sickeningly sweet, drowsy scent of bottom shelf, subtle brown paper bag alcohol abandoned where it spilled on the sidewalk.

Acrid, stays-with-you perfume of burnt caramel every morning from the famous gourmet popcorn shop.

Modern, 21^st Century city air replete with contributions from thousands of cheap cigarettes and cherry cigars and new-fangled “safe” vapor cigarettes, phantom puffs of aerosol-sugar-plastic cloud hanging in the way of unsuspecting commuters-by-foot.

Tangy, primeval stench of urine, man or beast, in nooks and crannies and not-so-out-of-the-way places like train tracks and bus stops and windowsills and park benches.

 

IV. Corpus

Blistering, wavering off the blacktop heat.

Blustering, chilling to the bone cold.

Blinding, glinting off glass and metal sun.

Buffeting, whipping hair and coats and umbrellas wind.

Bucketing, drenching at a moment’s notice rain.

Rogue drops of oil and rain and lord knows what falling from the elevated tracks onto white uniform pants.

Rogue waves of rain and melted snow and lord knows what splashed up on the pavement by careless wheels.

Crushing claustrophobic herd of bodies, some too fast, most too slow, dragging wheeled luggage or carrying for themselves alone umbrellas large enough to protect an average family.

2-wheeled, 4-wheeled, 8-wheels and more clattering and speeding and stopping and swerving and changing direction without using signal lights - desperate to run cyclists off the road and kill pedestrians outright.