New Yorkers (challenge 1)

In response to The Daily Post’s weekly writing challenge: “Three Ways to Go Gonzo.”

I remember the day like it was yesterday, probably because it was in fact yesterday. I was at a bus stop waiting for the bus, obviously, I’m in the so called beautiful city of New York where I was born and raised. The pride of some people that come from here is high and honestly, being a resident of this place, I could say I don’t see THAT much of a reason too hold your chest high and brag of coming from here. Was it the buildings? Our reputation as “New Yorkers”? Maybe because its the birthplace of the American Dream. Whatever it may be causes these citizens to act however they see fit. “Yo bro, I just miss that shit?”, I hear a voice say. I turn and see a black man in his mid 20s. Hes standing but the beads of sweat and the loss of breath leads me to believe he just finished running with all he had a second ago. “Yeah man sorry I saw it walking to the stop.” What I said was true I, just as he did, ran to make the bus and failed. The man shook his head in disappointment searching through his pockets “Fuckin bus drivers. Don’t give 2 fucks if a nigga makes it to work.” he says while he pulls out a small hand towel to wipe the sweat. I shrug my shoulders as if to say “hey, what you gonna do about it am I right?” and turned back towards the street to see if maybe the next bus was for some reason early as planned. I never is. I thought, “This bus will definitely be late”, and I felt this to be true because every part of the street was filled with cars. God Damn rush hour. In a distance I see a delivery man on a bike. An Oriental man, “Chinese food”, I thought. Man I’m hungry when was the last time I even ate? My mind all of a sudden focused on the bag telling my stomach, “you wish you had what ever is in there don’t you?” “Fuck off!”, my stomach responded back. I clenched my stomach as to silence him but my eyes never came off the bag on the bike. The cyclist was about to pass my intersection. I looked away to try to ignore my appetite when I averted my eyes to the traffic light that he was about to pass which was green for his go. That’s when everything went fast foward. The yellow blur of  the new Camaro comming from the left straight thru the red light straight thru the cyclist then I blinked and when I opened my eyes all that was left was the aftermath. I noticed the Oriental on the floor screaming in his native tongue.”DAMN NIGGA! You betta sue his ass! Make that money!” the black man screamed towards the Oriental, like he was responding to the Orientals screams of agony. The scenario played over and over in my head twenty times a second. The sound of the crash was the only sound effect I remember hearing. The bastard in the Camaro didn’t even honk his horn to make his presence known. Did he want to hit him? Maybe i was wrong and the real bastard was the Oriental I look around in search of the bike which was now a pile of twisted metal in the opposite side of the intersection. I also see the bus finally here late as usual. Right before I get on I look back at the crash site. The Oriental man was still screaming for help and now leaking blood and people just maneuvered around him like he was just a pot hole in the road. “New Yorkers for you”, I thought and proceeded onto the bus going on with my day. This city will NEVER change.