Ten

The swaying door seemed to swing manically as agitated New Yorkers rushed in and out of their boutiques and local hot spots. Taking one glance to his left and a second to his right, David Hash rushed out of an unorganized gadget emporium that he regretted ever entering in the first place. Next to him stood a fidgety young man that was messing with a silver plated blackberry poking at it dangerously with a thin stylus.
"You are a dog brained idiot Dale Banji. Oh I'm sure McGlevers will have a FP1 Finger Scanning USB drive!" mocked David in a high-pitched whiny voice.
"I'm sorry sir. I would have expected that certainly-"
"Of course you would have expected that Dale, thats what you do-"
ARRRRRRGH! yelled the horn of a taxi that David walked in front of. His apology was his middle finger, and he continued to press on.
"You expect things to happen that don't. I have just wasted a lunch hour on a goose chase in a, what did you direct me to? That's right, a forty some story gadget store that specializes in holding about 1,000 of each of the three items they sell. Now I'm going to have to go in front of this whole group at Whitlow Corp, and tell them YOU SHOULD INVEST IN THIS INVISIBLE ITEM I'M HOLDING! No, don't you see it Mr. Whitlow its right here, no really it is!"
"I really am sorry Mr. Hash, I didn't expect this to happen. But I know a place where we can find one."
"Oh, but you thought we'd go on this escapade at McGlevers for fun didja Banji? No, we won't be doing this again. Your fired Dale."
"Fired?!"
"Yes, but the sign at McGlevers said their hiring...so I'd try there."
"But I just started here last week."
"And ended in the next. Good Bye, Mr. Banji!"
"But you have to have three workers of the company agree to fire someone."
"Me, myself, and I! Simply put."
"Your a ****-head Mr. Hash! Its been hell working for an ass like you!"
"Mmph! I've heard worse.
He had. This was the thirty-seventh assistant he fired in the past year.
***
In front of a butchers shop stood three women screaming and shaking posters furiously in a continuous rhyme about the wrongs of the store.
"Innocence is taken, just for Bob's Bacon!"
Bob still stood inside the store, shaking his head in laughter. More and more costumers still came inside for their regular meat supply.
"How often does this happen, Bob?"
"Well more often than not, now that Sara Hithers has moved down here. Not much of a competition to Peta, but I do enjoy their chants every once and a while. No worries. My customers are still my costumers..."
The man smiled and walked out of the store with his pork, receiving a bellowing shout from the three outside.
"HEY HEY HEY, I WON'T HAVE ANY HARRASSMENT IN MY STORE MS. HITHERS. YOU JUST KEEP YOUR CHANTING OUTSIDE, YA HEAR ME, YA HEAR ME?"
Sara shook her head and tightened her lips, she let the man pass and went on.
"Baby pigs meet defeat, just for Bobs Corner Store Meat!"
"Ugh... What will it be Mary?"
"Just the regular Bob. I'm sorry for her and the others. They work for me, you know...I'd fire em' for you Bob. Making fools of themselves out there..."
"No, believe is believe. If she thinks I'm the devil so be it, let her keep her job. I hear she has a hard time, with money and all...Her parents left her I hear."
"You're a good man Bob, don't let her trick you."
"Thanks, we'll see you Mary."
No one knew exactly how hard a life that Sara would soon have, nor did anyone guess how hard of a life Bob would have.
***
The posters seemed to be flipped through in rabid urgency, the artist all the while painting another of the cityscape in front of him.
"I'll take this one. Seventy Five Dollars is it?" said the heavy man flipping the posters. He shifted his glasses as if to examine the picture on last time. Meticulously, he pointed his finger around every stroke of paint. He looked at his watch.
"Yes, sir"
"Here take it." said the man as he still glanced at the photo of a seascape, and handed the money absently.
"Thanks" said the artist.
The man had walked away, shoving his picture into an over flowing folder at his side.
"People..." mumbled Charlie, a local artist of Battery Park. He stood across from the round bronze sculpture of "The Sphere". A personal artistic interest, as Charlie had lost a sister and father in the Trade Center. The fire kept him warm during the winter month's, no matter how much of a memorial it was suppposed to be. It was functional to him, and a memory of lost loved ones in a form he could understand. It was home between the hours of three to seven on weekday's.
More people passed on to Fred Fimble, the artist next to him. He played to be Chinese under the name Feng Fu Rui, and painted Chinese Letters for those who were foolish enough to take the paintings of rather offensive words. Every time people from China Town would pass, he could hear the mumbled chuckles pointing at the words. Fred Fimble smiled. He knew letters only by a dictionary, he was of Vietnamese ancestry. Half the tourists didn't recognize the difference in China Town, there would be no way of noticing the difference in Battery Park.
"You want pich ure?" asked Fred in that dumb voice of his.
"Yes, yes we want picture.", a vividly red haired women signed to him as she said words. Her dark haired friend shook her head, as if offended by the man.
"Which picture want you?"
How he could keep a straight face like that, Charlie would never know.
"This picture. Here. It is fifty dollars. I will give to you."
She made the motion of putting her hand out to him, empty for now.
"Oh, no no. That painting, it is eighty dollar."
"We'll take it still. Here you are"
She handed the eighty dollars and left still talking to her friend.
"I took a class in chinese lettering did you know that Violet? This means love and that means peace."
"My, Harriet how fascinating! What is on the schedule for tommorow?"
They drifted off and I turned to Fred.
"Love and Peace. Ha ha, those blue haired ol' women don't know a thing do they? Want me ta tell you what it means?"
"I dunno, do I?"
"Probably not." said Fred as he let out a howl of laughter shaking the eighty dollars in his fist.
Charlie couldn't pay attention to that now though. People were coming, buyers. Fools who thought they understood art, were stampeding towards him and Fred.
It would be the last stampede of people they ever saw.