broadway and park boulevard
it's a windy night in the downtown area, the nightlife only beginning to seep in and out of the streets. the weight of the work day rests on many shoulders, but the promise of either going home to a warm bed or getting a nice cold beer from a bar keeps the crowds moving. unexpected chilly, people don't really stop to take in the urban landscape, this concrete jungle among other concrete jungles in the west coast. in the city, there is no stopping to smell the roses - you'll only smell the pungent sting of piss on the ground and remnants of trash thrown out weeks ago.
at the cross of two streets - broadway and park boulevard - is a hub of transit for this city. there is a metro stop for the trains and bus stops to go further into the city or back out to the desert. this is a bustling area, where the goal of most people here is to get in or get out as quickly as possible. cars passing by will only really view this cross as an inconvenience, as many passengers from the public transit cross the street with little worry or consideration to the cars who honk impatiently at them.
there's a pattern, a rhythm to the existence of this cross. the same sorts of people go through it, a variety of working individuals from coporate offices to minimum wage workers. the corner store is a beacon for all who come through here, with an elderly man bearing a friendly, tired smile to all the customers that enter, even the ones who have nothing to say. he'll always tell you, "thank you, come again!" the construction workers who eat lunch by the metro rails before going to the pier for work take no longer than 15 minutes to get themselves situated. public service workers roam throughout the cross to ensure people are safe, waving and greeting and even a little bit of policing - some firm, some friendly, some not fun at all. students hold their siblings hands as they board buses, mothers wave from the apartments in goodbye, regular passengers keep a careful eye.
so many are quick to see this place as a dump, another place to pass, to drive through, to ignore. when all we do is exist for ourselves, then that is all we will see. that is all we will experience. that is all we will perceive. this cross becomes nothing else but a moment, a blur, another thing to do in the routine that we call our lives.
however, if even one thing changes, it will be noticed. if one of the aunties on the bus is missing, the drivers will ask where she's at, if she's okay, how's her family. if one of the construction workers has no food, someone on the street will ask if he's hungry. if there's someone passed out on the street, there's a person there to pull them up, ask them if they need assistance, ask if they'd like a cup of water. if the man at the corner store isn't working, the grumpy office workers who usually don't even say thank you won't even bother to step in at all. if there's change, humanity is not at a standstill. for all that we view as unremarkable, unmemorable, unworthy - it matters still that we notice.
music blasts from someone's speakers, a wild, aggressive saxophone solo fills the cold night. young professionals fresh out of work crowd the bus stop, eager to get home after their 9 to 5. grandmothers done with shopping stand with their bags clutched tightly in their hands, rocking back and forth waiting for their ride home. suits pass by, one of them in the middle of a call and a fresh frown on his forehead. on the benches, young students have their ears covered with headphones and a bright screen displaying a colorful game of their choosing.
the physical state of the crossing of these streets isn't important. it's the people who make use of it. it is the small moments of humanity that culminate here that make it a spot worth remembering. while the world waxes poetic of times long gone, of grand architecture and world wonders that have never graced the average person's eyes, the people of broadway and park boulevard are equally, if not moreso, in need of having their moments archived somewhere.
if all that remains of this place is a memory in the distant future, let it be this one - a celebration of the mediocrity over everything groundbreaking, trending, and current.
