The economic underground runs an open market on Canal Street in New York City. The only street named “canal” that actually resembles its namesake. USD flows up and down Canal Street, a street awash with semi-criminal activity. African immigrants peddling their wares on the pavement while Middle Eastern shop owners sit on unbalanced stools with arms crossed. There is a honk every 2 seconds on Canal and every.0002 in Manhattan. I know..- I’ve timed it. I lay on floral bedsheets, curled up in a J, listening to the Canal below. When the lights turn green, and traffic flows, for one second it sounds like water..- then the honk reminds you, CITY.

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I’m waiting on little brother. He’s coming from Queens Center mall with his fiancee and I’m taking them on an experience through the city. This is why I am here, brother wants to do things he’s never done. The day I got here, I saw King Charles. Never seen a King before beyond walking into a Burger King bathroom on my birthday. We met at Union Square with the red light from the iconic sign bouncing off the passing vehicles. His phone had been dead the last hour and I spent it bouncing between Washington Sq and Union like Liam Neelson…- “I will find you..” He was at Madison Square, you’d think we were mathmaticians but clearly the math wasn’t mathing. He got to see the Flatiron with his fiancee, yet another spot off the list. I ran into him cradled at a LinkStation with a freshly purchased 7/11 iPhone charger. “DELL-OOOO” makes my head snap to attention. Liam has found his family, play the credits.

But no. I remembered that I was writing this piece on Canal Street. We had walked around Creenwich so much, once we got back, the two dogs and ten puppies passed out on the bed. The thought of writing this was the only Scooby snacks I needed. Back on the street to examine it while no one was haggling me to purchase bogus products...

Canal feels dangerous at night. I often wonder how many people violently met their demise on this street since 1776. Who was the first person to die on Canal Street? What was life like for them the week before they passed? Were they carried off by the canal before they drained it to build a street? Should they have kept the canal there? Who’s to say we can’t turn Chinatown into a Guangdong, with small boats navigating through the streets? I said the street feels dangerous but forgot to remind you that I think I’m Jon Wick in my leather jacket. I don’t care if the whole Foot comes out with Shedder, I am not going..- as they say. Walking empty streets that host hundreds of thousands during the day, it soothes me. I am these streets. In my life, I feel as I constantly host others in my mind’s eye, neglecting myself and allowing them to dump their trash on me. They think litte about me as they tread along with their ego-confirming conversations about what they think they want. Like the streets, I need at least 4 hours a day to myself. To gather all that was discarded and allow the wind or mob-controlled garbage truck to collect it. The thought occured to me, just how safe this city is. If this place is safe, we are living in a safe time. The moment the unrest bubbles beyond governmental supervision, I think New York will become the Gotham of the public imagination. Where an able-bodied athletic John Wick prototypical lightskin would be in danger of armed robbery...

I rose at 7am and watched Canal Street slowly wake up. By 9:52am, the open market is in full swing. Ghanan men find their way back to this street. Some have relationships with frequent passerby's. I kept feeling like Karen with the thought, “Why are so many niggas are on this breaking the law on this street?”

I don’t know and may never know. people on Youtube go here and make trash videos repeating the same question I asked.. i actually don’t care, I’ve got work to do.

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