INCREASE-DECREASE

Yesterday I went out to grab my piece of sunshine pie here in NYC. Everyone was out, draped in their coolest rags, biggest alien eyewear, oversized duffles, iced coffee, iphones and blackberries clicking and clacking, high heels clicking and clacking and stopping in the middle of the sidewalk to light a smoke. Street vendors selling what mama taught them to make, and lunch best served outside. Happening. Alive in all its grandeur and pretense. Perfection.

I stood on the corner of 14th and Broadway. Next to me was a lean, middle aged man, with no shirt on, bouncing around on his toes jabbing the air, right hooking the wind. He was jabbering some sort of…jabber, but didn’t strike me as insane. He just seemed focused. It was clear he was training, or at least just having a hearty workout.

Without warning, the man bounced into the middle of the street, turned his back the way of the traffic, and started to sprint backwards, down Broadway. Down Broadway! One of the busiest streets in the city!
(Imagine the game, Frogger, but Frogger’s a shirtless, black man.)

He glanced back occasionally, as he dodged and ran between honking cars, blindly, missing their sideview mirrors by millimeters. It was all happening so fluidly, so effortlessly. By the time my trance was broken I realized everyone was watching him, cringing as he cavalierly risked his life.

But for him, it was just training. The sort of absurd action it takes to get better. The type of blind faith necessary to achieve in the midst of obstacles. The development of a sixth sense, and an intuition to be the best.

I don’t know if this is what he was thinking. He was running so fast, there was no way for me to ask him. Not to mention he may have punched me in the face in an intense, instinctive, blackout moment.

But I’d like to believe that’s what he would’ve said. (But who knows, he might’ve just been nuts!)