The green patch stands out amongst the ocean of steel. The
two sharply contrast, like past and future. At this point it’s hard to tell which came first,
or which is the rightful tenant.
Both seem unnatural and forced. Both appear to be a sort of cancer,
encroaching on the other's territory, gaining inches with each year.
Japanese tourists crowd along the edges, getting as close to
the tall glass walls as their acrophobia will allow. They snap pictures from all sides and all angles. They pose in front of buildings they don’t know the names of and pass cameras to
strangers without speaking a word of English. Everyone is quiet, even though there are no signs that advise
them to be. People try their best
to be conscious and present. Trying so hard to take in the experience that they forget to
take in the experience.
It’s windy and cold. It feels like it’s raining but it’s
not. The air is different this high up. It’s wet and violent, and in a city so big
and overwhelming I feel, for a moment, that I dominate it. Standing at the
top and looking down gives me a sense of unearned accomplishment.
There is a slight crack, maybe an inch and a half, where the
glass walls meet at the corners of the building. After a young European couple
moves I take their spot. I plant myself directly in the corner and stick my face
in the crack.
Only my nose can fit through, but it feels nice, calm.
