Faust

Underground

Three blocks east of Glasgow, I take the subway to avoid walking through downtown. After all the mess I went through three months ago, it's best not to push my luck with the japs.

         Sitting between a businessman in his 50s talking loud on the phone with headsets on and a young fellow in his 20s staring at me from time to time from the edge of his hoodie. The idea of getting a car crossed my mind again.

         But it's merely an idea. I got an international driver's license but I can't remember the last time I was behind the wheel. Never did have the chance to buy or drive a car when I was still another fool running around the city like there was no such thing as mortality. And after watching too many folks getting whacked while they're driving or just getting lit up with the whole car. The idea of cornering yourself in a metal box seems impractical in all kinds of aspects.

          Vera agreed with me on autos for different reasons. Mainly because they're easy to track, way too loud and obvious so when they absolutely need one usually it will be stealing someone else's (Mainly by Viviane) and burning the car afterward (Mainly by Vera) like the night I met them.

          The guy in the hoodie is getting on my nerves but thankfully as the metro reaches the station I could disappear in the flock of physically and mentally exhausted men in suits and get off the subway.

           They're like a school of fishes surrounding each other, creating an ecosystem and society of their own. When two men are both moving towards a set of door at the same time, they will immediately notice it and quickly take a peek at the other person, taking his appearance, apparel, age, and general sense of presence into account before deciding whether to turn down your pace out of politeness or ignoring the person completely. A sight that greatly reminds me of my trip during the past three months.

            Following swirls of businessmen, office workers, secretaries. Girls in brown flax vests, oversized white shirts, and sunglasses. I slowly approach the stairs with nonslip pads.

             A ray of ultraviolet squeezed through the small angle between the metal canopy and the stairs itself, falling on my chest. Like the angry white eye outside is squinting to see if it's me.

            I grip the violin case harder and harder, I fix my jacket to make sure my stuff is still safely hidden under the fabrics, and I pull my pants higher so no one will notice the big chunk of iron. Every time I'm in downtown or business center the uncanny intuition appears, warning me this is not where I should be, I don't belong here. This is not the lawless land like Noch.

When the angry eye in the sky is able to cast its full malevolence upon me. I enter another world.
***

            Two streets north of Via Martinase, couple miles south of Monclea. It's the business center of Euforia, Saint Elisha. But most of the people besides the politicians in Congress still call it Mosquetero Street or Manche Mousquetaire.

           Passing by a statue of 16 screaming men in various poses, I turn right and follow the crowd into 'Encrucijada'.

           Skyscrapers from downtown shine in the distance an extreme comparison to Saint Elisha. Because of the conservation of historic buildings, the reconstruction of the exterior is prohibited. Since this area was the first to be developed in Faust, there is a considerable amount fits the category.

          Therefore walking on the streets of Saint Elisha, especially on 'Encrucijada'. You'll notice how the heights of buildings are very inconsistent. A five-story high, marble historic court could be standing right next to two 40-story high, glass business buildings of foreign corporates.