#20

The blood smear on the street was visible from my second floor window the way swimming pools are visible from an airplane. At a time of year when the only other vibrant colors came from intentionally placed Christmas lights, it was easy to spot. And the more I looked, I could see nuanced tones of pinks and yellows—the dead rat’s innards. It could not have been that long since it was last a living creature. I came back to the window every hour or so and watched the colors became more muted as the day wore on. Reds and pinks turned to umber and rust. By dusk, the carcass was barely visible against the gray pavement.

The next morning I hurriedly checked again but could see no sign of the rat. It had become one with the asphalt, one of many once-beating hearts now carrying the weight of New York City.