Mother Metropolis

Mother Metropolis

by DJ Burnett

         Dogboy crouches in the armpit of the living city. Her streets, like veins, carry her lifeblood to where it's most needed. The summer sun isn't takin gno shit today, so he sits in the shadow of a building that saw its best days in the thirties. It will be too hot to beg until sunset, so he curls up into a fetal ball and sleeps.

         He wakes at twilight. After stretching lavishly, he rises and walks out of the alley. The night is sweet with the perfume of forty thousand bodies pressed together in a massive concrete box. Dogboy throws his head back and drinks deep of the night air.

         The city's lights wink at him as he walks her streets. She knows him better than anyone else in this world. She has seen him hold a gun to a man's head for two dollars and forty-three cents in change. Oh yes, she knows him well.

         His feet slap the streets, pulsing in unison with the beat of his heart. From somewhere above a wailing song serenades him. He smiles. Life is so much richer when there is background music.

         He takes up position outside of the Seven Eleven. He knows his business. Life is hard, but begging is easy. He clowns and recites verse, whatever they ask for be it Coleridge or limericks. After only twenty minutes he has enough money for dinner. After an hour he has enough for a dime bag. He goes inside to get his food first. The night is young, there will be time for other business later.

         Dogboy once more roams the night. Without lookin gup he knows where to make turns. Within the hour he reaches his destination, The Graveyard of Lost Souls.

         The Graveyard is an alley, like any other alley, secreted deep in the bowels of the city. The lost ones gather here, as if some sort of homing instinct is built into every runaway and junkie. They seek solace amongst the dumpsters and debris, and not finding it in each other they wait for some silent apocalypse to sweep them all away.

         Dogboy's entrance goes unnoticed. There are no trumphet blasts or showers of rose petals to greet him. The others huddle in twos or threes in the islands of light cast by the streetlamps. Dogboy, alone, strides into the dark end of the alley.

         He walks to the wall, arms outstretched, and kisses the cold brick lovingly. The city wraps her masive arms of steel and concrete around him. She whispers in his ears and soothes him, her breath ruffling his hair. There is a crackle of electricity in the air. He feels holy.

         Dogboy completes his secret communion and reluctantly returns to the light. He finds his friend Marlowe, the Apothecary, and buys a small bag of marijuana. With his belly full and his drug secreted safely in his pocket, he returns to the streets.

         He walks where the city leads him. Down the long, crooked passageways to her most secret parts. Her pulse pounds in his ears, but still she hides her heart from him.

         She takes Dogboy to a long-forgotten apartment building. The open maw of the ruin beckons him. He looks up at its windows, staring sadly down at him as he approaches. The ancient structure devours him, but he is not afraid, its belly is dry and comfortable.

         Dogboy lies down on a dirty mattress and carefully packs his bowl. He lights it with his battered Zippo and drags deeply. Holding the smoke, he prays to the gods of concrete to protect him from the darkness. Then, he curls up in the womb of the living city, and sleeps.

         After he is asleep the city heaves a heartbroken sigh. She hadn't meant to keep him any more than he had meant to stay, but she can't let go. As she watches him sleep, the thunderheads sulking above her break, and she cries for him.