The Journey To Destiny

I chose to arrive at Newark International, because, I thought, JFK and LaGuardia would be too packed. That was the only conscientious decision I made that whole week. I was just going with the wind and waves.

A driver picked me up and headed for Roman’s office building. From Newark to New York, grime seemed to be a joint theme. Rusted, dusted buildings engulfed the sides of the expressways like a fire of brick, steel and glass. The factories, a lot of them, even most of them, had smoke stacks puffing out clouds of exhaust, probably not helping the pollution problem.

Smog hung in the air like an immoveable tattle-tell, but no one seemed to mind. It was as if the city ignored truth tellers. “If they were ignoring the problem,” I thought, “it’s probably because they’re all too busy making money, chasing after weekends and recreation to stop and think about the fate we’re all designing for ourselves when we destroy the planet.”

I was no environmental activist, wasn’t even environmentally conscientious. I was just observing and thinking about it all. Made me wonder if minds could be polluted, too. I thought, of course then realized that maybe I was polluting my own mind by visiting Roman, seeing what he had to say, letting him pour in his toxic utterance. Nevertheless, my heart was telling me that this was the chance of a lifetime, that I could really do some good with the money in spite of what he was planning to do. Time would tell if my heart’s advice was good or not.