Plugged In

You sweat your way through summer, searching for a room: walkups in the hundreds, flea-pits in Alphabet City. Nobody in this town sweats or eats a damned thing either. You feel the heft of fat sag over your shorts. When the leaves turn, you graduate from a borrowed couch to a small, shared place by the river with a smaller room. Your own. The air has cooled and you watch the runners, see flyers for a restaurant further down the block promising ill beats and good vibes. You want to sweat still. In the cool of a new morning, you shun the elevator, take the stairs out, into the fresh, crisp air. You put in headphones, hear the beat of your new city: join the flow of humanity in all its amazing shapes and hues as it huffs and shuffles, sprints and glides along the river. You move, plugged in.


fiction by
John Herbert

art by
Nata Tias