Jaas stared down from his perch on St. John the Divine. Amsterdam Avenue had such a personality these days. Warm weather did such wonders for the city. Gone were the attempts at making overstuffed down coats look like anything but a defense from the horrid wind tunnels that cut through nearly any clothing. The streets overflowed with colour from the trees and the Columbia University students. Light hoodies announcing Brooklyn covered short sleeve shirts or tank tops; skirts, sarongs, shorts danced against thighs that begged for a deeper colour from the sun; and the shoes came out of their boot rut. Nighttime brought even more fantastic outfits. Jaas dripped a few drops of old rainwater out of his mouth, the closest thing to tears.
"Rivet," he said, "I've been watching this city for over 100 years. I've seen so many changes, and wonderful as they may be, they sadden me."
Rivet cooed and pigeon-toed her way on to Jaas's back. She had heard these words many times over the years, but her friend needed her to listen again. A couple below kissed each other on both cheeks and departed: one into the cathedral, one continuing uptown.
"I've never felt the touch of another's lips, and I never will."
Rivet gently pecked some grit and pieces of leaf from the crook of Jaas's neck.
"I've never left this wall. There is so much world out there, and I am stuck here forever."
Rivet bent down to Jaas's ear and sang New York City. The green of Central Park and the attitude of Williamsburg, the life of Harlem and the tragedy of downtown. It was a plotless sweeping song. People below stopped to listen to the crazy pigeon and smiled, because no matter how long you had been here or how jaded you got, this city could still surprise you. Jaas listened and saw all of the places in the song, but a journey of imagination would not satisfy him.
"But I want to see it. Really see it," he whispered, "A century of change in this small place is just not enough when there is so much more. I want to walk around, wear a thousand different colours. I don't want to be made of stone. I want to have friends and lovers and to never ever be alone. I hate this life. I want something more. I deserve something more."
Rivet fluffed her feathers in frustration, climbed onto Jaas's head and pooped. There are times to be kind, and there are times when your best friend just needs a good kick in the pants. She told Jaas that one day she would be gone. That every person below would be gone. The world would move on and maybe remember but probably not. In a century, Jaas would still be here. Watching. Remembering. Seeing the story on a grander scale than anyone living it. Wanting more is good. Wanting more to the point of self-hatred is destructive. Jaas could no more be a moving being than Rivet could be a cat.
"I know."
The pigeon brushed the gargolye's head with her feathers and offered a deal. She would bring the story of New York every evening to Jaas, and Jaas would tell her the story of this street from as far back as he knew.
"I bet your story'll be better than mine."
Rivet pooped.
This is another three word story from a co-worker. If you are interested in submitting your own three random words, you can email them to the address at right or leave them in the comments.
"Rivet," he said, "I've been watching this city for over 100 years. I've seen so many changes, and wonderful as they may be, they sadden me."
Rivet cooed and pigeon-toed her way on to Jaas's back. She had heard these words many times over the years, but her friend needed her to listen again. A couple below kissed each other on both cheeks and departed: one into the cathedral, one continuing uptown.
"I've never felt the touch of another's lips, and I never will."
Rivet gently pecked some grit and pieces of leaf from the crook of Jaas's neck.
"I've never left this wall. There is so much world out there, and I am stuck here forever."
Rivet bent down to Jaas's ear and sang New York City. The green of Central Park and the attitude of Williamsburg, the life of Harlem and the tragedy of downtown. It was a plotless sweeping song. People below stopped to listen to the crazy pigeon and smiled, because no matter how long you had been here or how jaded you got, this city could still surprise you. Jaas listened and saw all of the places in the song, but a journey of imagination would not satisfy him.
"But I want to see it. Really see it," he whispered, "A century of change in this small place is just not enough when there is so much more. I want to walk around, wear a thousand different colours. I don't want to be made of stone. I want to have friends and lovers and to never ever be alone. I hate this life. I want something more. I deserve something more."
Rivet fluffed her feathers in frustration, climbed onto Jaas's head and pooped. There are times to be kind, and there are times when your best friend just needs a good kick in the pants. She told Jaas that one day she would be gone. That every person below would be gone. The world would move on and maybe remember but probably not. In a century, Jaas would still be here. Watching. Remembering. Seeing the story on a grander scale than anyone living it. Wanting more is good. Wanting more to the point of self-hatred is destructive. Jaas could no more be a moving being than Rivet could be a cat.
"I know."
The pigeon brushed the gargolye's head with her feathers and offered a deal. She would bring the story of New York every evening to Jaas, and Jaas would tell her the story of this street from as far back as he knew.
"I bet your story'll be better than mine."
Rivet pooped.
This is another three word story from a co-worker. If you are interested in submitting your own three random words, you can email them to the address at right or leave them in the comments.
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