The Day Walt Whitman met Steve Jobs

So we met under the Brooklyn Bridge on that cold and solemn night. I looked out to my America as he looked out to his. We didn’t say a word to each other all night.
We just observed the people in their funny attires. One by one going by. The people seemed restless and real confused. Some looked very panicked and distraught. Others looked pleased and wealthy and walked along laughing and singing but something was very odd about them. We continued to observe.

By the time the day arrived he finally turned to me and said, ” Wow, your America is in color” I laughed and responded “Yes, and Steve Jobs died” as I dug in my pocket for my iphone to check my morning email.
As I scrambled through my home screen to find the email app, searching rigorously, app after app creating eddies of apps on my phone I finally found it. The muscles in my thumb began to go weak and I pressed the app. The window opened and the blinding white made me look away. I could see from the corner of my eye he was stunned. The look on his face was as if someone masturbated and jetted all over his cat and some landed on his beard. i turned over to him and he regained his composure. I told him it was the newest model with the dual-core A5 chip, all-new 8MP camera and optics that also included 1OS 5 and iCloud in it and not to mention that Apple was introducing Siri. All the information of the world in the palm of my hand. I offered to lend it to him if he needed to check his Facebook or something. He was stumbling for words shaking his head, twirling his eyes, stomping his feet and finally got it out of his mouth to ask who I was completely ignoring my offer. I thought this was a real opportunity and seeing as this man was obviously on drugs or went to arts school wearing his really bad vintage attire, I said i was the president of the United States of America.

A silence came soon after.

“Wow, isn’t that something?” he responded
“What?” I said.
“They allow young spics to become President but don’t give any negroe young or old his freedom.” I took a second to register that while expressing the same reaction he had on his face a second ago. I was offended and responded furiously, “Fuck you man! There are laws against you calling me that! Did you know that?! Yea, it’s fucked up our brothers don’t have their freedom but Obamas in office now and he’s changing shit!
Occupy LA baby! woop woop!”

…An awkward silence came about soon after.
I put my phone away after I tweeted about the asshole who disrespected me then resumed people watching.

The people on the bridge kept going about with their business and I could see from across the East River that few were under it waiting for something. A tourist I presumed that was above us on the bridge yelled “When was this made? I was here yesterday and this wasn’t here” I thought it was such an outrages question how could he not know?, but come to think of it I, didn’t know either. No one answered him because no one knew. I was curious enough and did what anyone would do. Look it up.

“Did you know that The Brooklyn Bridge is one of the oldest suspension bridges in the United States. Completed in 1883, it connects the New York City boroughs of Manhattan and Brooklyn by spanning the East River”?

“No, I’m as confused as the man on that bridge.”
“What? Let’s go to Starbucks and I’ll explain everything”
So we walked away from what seemed to be a “I Love Lucy” episode and onwards towards the subway to go Starbucks. As we passed by a traveling séance show he was going on explaining to me how has a perfect brain and how he had a dream of meeting me and my iphone by the Brooklyn Ferry. I was confused but laughed. We could both agree this was a really strange day.


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s