Gently, Sweetly Home Again

Gently, Sweetly Home Again

By Allen Henriquez

Zachary Yates pushed out on the doors of the Port Authority bus terminal, on 41^st street in New York City, out of uniform and out of the Army, happy to be back. Zack walked about Time Square, sat on a tourist bench, drank coffee, and watched: the life, the light, the excitement, and parade of people, those on lunchbreak, job hunting, sightseeing, the hope, the energy, and intensity of the city crashed down on him, as if a drug. The drug of remembrance and re-indoctrination into this concrete Valley of Vision and steel. A half an hour passed before the long hours of the bus ride home kicked in and tried to wrestle him into a sleeper hold. Zack hit the subway and headed home.

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The G train to Myrtle and Willoughby roared down the tunnel’s pathway with more deliberation, than clang and circumstance, newer trains. The cars were also cleaner, and the riders were overwhelmingly occupied by their electronic devises, than: any person, persons, or possibility of interaction, or whatever.