The Kayaker (Dystopia)
The man steered his kayak from the wide Hudson to Canal street, ironically now a canal, paddling now under the huge rusted sign at the old Holland Tunnel entrance. The watery road was quiet in the early morning, but the man’s shaggy dog on the nose of the plastic craft was still alert, poking her head up and sniffing the air. The man carried hand crafted goods from the mountain farm to sell at the Essex floating market, the boat stalls stretching North over what was Roosevelt park at Chrystie street. He brought honey in Mason jars. He brought baskets woven from plastic trash. He brought knives of different sizes, always a necessity in this fallen world. The man looked at the darkened buildings and remembered the last time that he saw light. Before the war of the skies, the satellites exploding 1000 miles above the earth, the communications crashing. Before the mega-hurricane finally put a stop to the power grid. The dog started barking, and the man realized that...
