(come in under the shadow of this red rock),

#

It was as if the very foundations underneath Manhattan had regurgitated every dark pathology, every shadowed and forgotten memory, every dank whim and timidly hidden piece of detritus; rats, insects, exhaust, sewage – a plethora of deranged subterranean flora and fauna – thrust from beyond into a shuddering, hulking presence in the landscape.  Eli could almost feel it pushing bodily through the substrates of his psyche, culminating in a swarming, writhing mass of what appeared to be predatory birds diving and soaring about the building’s uppermost mast.

#

Reeling out of the rear service door, the cripple lurched to the curb and vomited violently into a pile of cardboard boxes.  Having witnessed that unspeakable act, he could not restrain himself and let the tears stream down his distorted face.  He became aware of the condescending eyes of those on the street – most assuming him to be yet another drunk tossed from the warm innards of a polite building where he had presumably taken refuge.  Their gaze forced the cripple’s twisted feet into action and he shuffled westwards down the street in the direction of Central Park – a place for him to be lost all on his own.  Trying to rid those recent images from his psyche, he quickened his pace to a halting jog while trying to avoid bumping into the shiny suits that filled the street.  Rounding the corner, he looked up with bleary tired eyes to a monstrously large shadowy building; it seemed to sway in its own darkness and the repeating decks swam through his watery vision.  Encouraged by its depths, he pressed on through the morass of people on the street until he could smell it reaching out for him – extending its cold concrete arms into an embrace of total isolation.  He retched again as he approached and plunged headlong into shadow.

#

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