Day -166, March 29, 6:36:34 am He grabs a black mug from the cabinet and pours himself a cup of coffee. He slurps it black and stares through the tiny window in his kitchen that looks out into the alleyway and across the next roof at the East River.

Day -162, April 2 , 6:35:44am He grabs a mug from the cabinet that reads “Cafe Ground” and pours himself a cup of coffee. He slurps it black and stares through the tiny window in his kitchen that looks down into the alleyway and across the next roof at the East River. Nothing is stirring and he watches the light of the sun begin to wash across the Brooklyn Bridge. Monday… Monday… He sips his coffee.

He is over the Brooklyn Bridge and can see the ripples in the water where the East River pulls against the towers of the bridge. Long lines in the evergreen water drag down the length of the river and as if time were suddenly sped up to an impossible pace the towers of the bridge wear down and down. Parts of the bridge begin to fire into the water and more and more of it deteriorates like a dream about losing your teeth. It crumbles into a gritty substance and washes away until the bridge is completely gone and there is nothing but the undisturbed flatness of the evergreen water of the East River.

He steps back from the window. The Bridge’s West tower and suspension cables are in view. Behind it he can see the awful monolith that is the AT&T tower, the Federal Courthouse, the massive ever-watchful twins, a mess of skyline, and behind that, a shocking blue sky. Nothing lasts. Nothing ever lasts. But some things should more than others.

Read the whole thread: The Hunger Engine

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