The driver smiled at him, then turned to the rest of the workers in the station.
‘I’d like to introduce Mahogany’s replacement. Our new butcher,’ he announced.
The workers looked at Kaufman. There was a certain deference in their faces, which he found appealing.
Kaufman looked up at the sunlight, now falling all around him. He jerked his head, signifying that he wanted to go up, into the open air. The driver nodded, and led him
up a steep flight of steps and through an alley-way and so out on to the sidewalk.
It was a beautiful day. The bright sky over New York was streaked with filaments of pale pink cloud, and the air smelt of morning.
The Streets and Avenues were practically empty. At a distance an occasional cab crossed an intersection, its engine a whisper; a runner sweated past on the other side of the street.
Very soon these same deserted sidewalks would be thronged with people. The city would go about its business in ignorance: never knowing what it was built upon, or what it owed its life to. Without hesitation, Kaufman fell to his knees and kissed the dirty concrete with his bloody lips, silently swearing his eternal loyalty to its continuance.
The Palace of Delights received the adoration without comment.