You notice the knives right away. The low-lying November sun glints off their shimmering steel in the same way it sparkles across the grey-green Hudson—that triumphant tributary winding its way out to Lady Liberty. It’s slightly suspicious to meet a man placing knives in a pink JanSport backpack, but this is New York. And when, searching for context clues, you spy the rubbery kitchen gloves accompanying the knives, your stride eases.
Good for him, you think, this industrious soul. He must be knocking off from a morning shift of chopping produce before the lunch rush. You hope he hasn’t been handling carrots. It’s just too frightening, all this rampant E. coli. You smile and nod as you pass while avoiding direct contact with his marginally manic, but piercingly handsome, eyes. You imagine he’s just tired and can certainly relate, since you’ve caught glimpses of yourself at the end of a long day, when you’ve looked equally wild.
With Equinox gym in sight, your mind shifts to the day’s meetings ahead, already dividing workout minutes between those pesky weights which will help to maintain your bone density and your treasured treadmill. There’ll be no time for hair washing. It’s a dry shampoo kind of day.
You’re cooling down from a rejuvenating run through an AI-generated Sequoia National Forest, when you spot the headline. Multiple stabbings reported. And there it comes gurgling. That good-natured apathy you’ve been letting grow like a tumor inside your tightly toned core.
