I died on the corner of Powell and 92nd.

Two men are talking on the sidewalk. They are speaking in a language that I don’t understand. They are different than me.

I stand beside them and everything is calm. The breeze blowing by reminds me that this place is strange, new. Traffic flows steadily on the street.

Suddenly I feel a chill. My nerves tingle and my bones ache. My knees are weak and they collapse downward. I lay on the ground and feel the cold of the cement. Then, a liquid warms my face, but my vision goes before I can determine its color. I wheeze out air and struggle to refill my lungs against the weight of my body. The air won’t come.

A woman screams. Why is she so upset? What happened to the calm? Someone is running! The sounds, they mesh and muddle into a melancholy metronome. Its vibrations provide the last music I hear. Good Lord! I’m freezing!

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