Sitting on the bus. I stare through the windshield trying to envision my life progressing by the minute as we travel through the bustling streets of Borough Park. Jewish. Like glimmers of black and white with circumcised curled hairs. Hebrew words tell me that this is a place where gentiles aren’t seen like the Phoenix. I observe my surroundings within this steel prison on wheels. Anxiously awaiting my arrival in front of the bodeaga that smells of spiced meats. I see sadness on the two other prisoners in my cell.
The man across from me has a ravenous hunger in his eyes. Like a feral cat attacking a squirrel carcass. He waits.
The undying lust of processed meats fills his soul (from what i could tell by his nervous twitches and hunger wheezes). From his Dora the explorer backback, he presents the steel cage with a package of C-Towns finest packaged bologna.
He examines it like a moth to a flame or a maggot on a dead pigeon. He stares a lustful stare. We become one.
He opens the package with utter excitement, twitching at the anticipation of absorbing the vast array of ground animals into his own meats.
Scents of bagels and jewish things diminish and the pungent aroma of garlicky lukewarm animal death fills the bus. My nose hairs are burned by the aroma.
The man takes the entire pack, instead of eating them piece by piece. He tears into the meat saucer with the conviction of a soldier. Within what seemed like a matter of seconds, the processed meats were one with him.
All that was left was the memory and the smell of rancid, sweaty deli meats.