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By Claire LeDoyen
The bus I’d been on since ten the night before let me off in the dark at 59 Canal St, Chinatown, at 6:30 AM. Passing out before the sun rose was my main objective, and I hoped hard that trains were running swiftly. Early-morning Manhattan quietness occupied the nearest F station. A rat scurried down the steps and into a hole in the wall as I climbed the stairs to wait for the train.
On the platform three more rodents bolted from under the garbage can into the tunnel. They had obviously been eating from a big splash of orange vomit, in which a remaining rat tensely stared me down as I approached. A few seconds passed before he too ran off.
There was a dead rat in the tracks when I got to Hoyt-Schermerhorn. Its body was still intact, but I think its head had been squished by a train. Small gore spilled out onto the track; it might have been its brain. There were two other rats running around down there. I think they were trying to get close to the violated rodent to see if it was edible.
I can’t play with my friend’s pet rats anymore. They really skeeve me out.
#Rats #Manhattan #NewYork #NYC #CreativeWriting #Prose #Fiction? #Real/Unreal