There are far too many people in the streets today. It's not even rush hour, nonetheless I can feel myself choking on the bitter taste of the air. Air not strictly unique to New York, the rancid taste of pollution and rain. Thick and heavy, it fills my lungs but no matter how much I gasp I can't seem to get enough oxygen through my veins. The lack of air is burning through my system making my throat hurt and my head throb.

I knew today was going to be hell. It's always a bad sign when I start having internal monologues, equally bad when I start narrating my life. I'm just one step away from having my own them song. Scary orderlies in obscenely white uniforms would be after me if I started on the circuit though. There I go again, being fantastically and irrationally paranoid. Then again maybe I was right in the first place.

The steady throng of people passing by is unnerving. I can't help but be paranoid. I can feel their eyes on me when they scurry by. I can hear the malice in their idle laughter and I know that its aimed at me. My skin is tensing up and I have goose bumps, not strictly caused by the frigid cold.

I pass by a number of small stores with bright and colorful awnings above their decorated windows. Most selling overly expensive clothing but here and there one could find a Mom & Pop market, a dying species in and of itself. The sickly sweet and slightly spicy aroma of various food stands makes me gag. Random faces and random uniform buildings are passing by in a blur. That's not right though, I'm the one that's passing by in some other plane of existence. The unreality of the situation is making me feel like an aerial.

I concentrate on the concrete below me. Quickly sliding under my feet as I walk over the gray uneven ground. I can feel myself staggering and erratically lurching forward. I feel like I'm dying but I know that I'm overreacting and overdramatizing everything. Slowing my breathing and making a conscious effort to stay stable I force myself out of my happy little delusion.

My ears seem to pop, which is odd because I never noticed the muffled lack of sound, suddenly flooding me with noise. The steady rhythm of the city which is usually the bane of my existence is oddly comforting. The chaotic swirl of inorganic and natural noise serves a purpose at last. The deep earthy sound of unrelenting forces pounding against soil mixing in with the noise of traffic. The sound of the rain plummeting against the ground reminding me of things long sense forgotten.