Guidebook for the Perplexed
Chapter 3: The Bird Man of The Battery The subway train rattled and squealed, a metallic worm slithering through the underground of the city. K. stood in the car, swaying with the rhythm of the rails, surrounded by faces that were pale, glazed, and which seemed to avoid looking at him. The air was heavy with the smell of sulfur and tar. He had got on at Broadway and Canal, going to the chaotic tangle of the lower city, down to the very edge of Manhattan, to the nearest stop on the map to The Battery. The stops on the way were like a curious litany of names that meant nothing to him, a history he could not discover. Canal. Houston. Prince. Each one a layer of the city peeled back, revealing a deeper, stranger reality. “It's HOUSE-ton,” they chided him, a stranger in town; “not HEW-ston.” When the doors slid open at Whitehall, K. stepped out onto the platform and ascended into the daylight. “Ahh,” he breathed a sigh of relief. The air here was different, fresher, with a breeze off t...