Anita Virgil
Forest, Virginia, U.S.A.

The Connection

From the bus windows lozenges of city streets bump by. Live Poultry Market, Go-Go dancers Tuesdays and Thursdays, the 4th Avenue Social Club, storefront churches, bars, stoops, candy stores. Jolting along. Stopping. Then out for the subway station. Where? High up is the sign. Nearby, a steep staircase of crumbling concrete. A rusted iron railing leads down. Walls obscure all but the sky. Down, down, curiously down, following the single figure ahead following the bend in the staircase. Hurrying to keep up, I am another lamb following the jangling bell of the lead ram who waits, then jangles on again along the dim chutes to the abattoir. At the foot of the stairs, a sudden lush greenness everywhere. And there is nothing else but this platform and the tracks converging in the distance . . . .