The steam hissed, emitting itself into the city air in large plumes from the orange and once-white towers constructed at the end of every other block.  She maneuvered past the seemingly unending construction sites, pushing past this businessman and that student, her phone clutched to her ear as she grunted short yeses and nos through the speaker.

“Look-“ She finally sighed, slipping past a particularly obnoxious couple taking up at least half the sidewalk with their linked hands, “I’ll call you once I get home, ok? The train’s leaving in an hour and I’m not even near 9th street yet.”

With that, she swiped the call to an end, stuffing the small square of metal into her blazer pocket, running a hand through her tresses as her heels clacked down the narrow walkway. White, brown and bronze colored arms reached out from all directions, flyers in hand, offering free laptops and open mic nights, tours and discount Broadway tickets in loud, worn-out voices, receiving little to no attention from the passerbys. Another sigh deflated her shoulders as she ignored their pointed gazes, keeping her eyes forward, each voice blending into one incoherent jumble of noise.

“-That’s right! The apocalypse!”

She rolled her eyes, unable to hold back the scoff as she approached yet another group posted at the intersection beneath the awning of some shop or other. An elderly man stood upon a wooden box, his bare feet covered in soot and dirt, his white tunic and trousers dusted with ash. His thin, withered arms reached into the air, almost touching the awning, a tattered old bible in one hand, a rosary in the other.

“The signs are all there, ladies and gentlemen. Disaster, famine, warfare, and hate!” He spoke in a loud, baritone voice, his silver beard shaking as if with emphasis. “This world was never made to last forever.”

The woman slowed her steps, not out of interest, but purely due to the inability to move past the unusually large crowd gathering around the lunatic on his pedestal. It wasn’t until she approached the crowd that she realized he was not alone. Just before the wooden box stood another man, significantly younger; younger, in fact, than she was. His sharp black eyes roamed the crowd, a small smile playing on his pouting lips as he carried around a wad of cash, taking bill after bill from the group of onlookers. The woman lingered on the outskirts of the crowd, watching with interest as the young man wrapped a rubber band around the bills, taking a rosary from around his neck and crossing each member of the audience, his lips moving quickly in an unfamiliar prayer.

“Now is the time-“ the old man spoke, “To pay your tithing where it is owed. Beg for forgiveness, not from the wealthy and the corrupt- the ones who sit on their golden thrones in Rome, but from the ones truly closest to God in this world!”

The woman furrowed her brow, hanging open just slightly in what might have been disbelief. The old man continued to spout his sermons as the boy blessed customer after customer, each person slipping away, returning to their usual business once he was complete. The crowd began to thin steadily, the sermon dying out until eventually everyone had left, save for the woman.

The boy flipped through the new wad of cash in his hand, placing another band around it and stuffing it into the pocket of his bomber jacket, when he noticed her presence. He straightened up, knitting his brow as he turned her way. She shifted between her feet, suddenly uncomfortable at the boy’s gaze.

He was indeed young, his skin pale, nearly translucent, the black ski cap upon his head only accentuating its alabaster complexion. He wore a shawl around his torso, three small silver rings glinting from his earlobe as they caught the gray light. His eyes latched onto her own, the dark iris nearly indistinguishable from the black center of his pupil, something within them suggesting a kind of age far older than his appearance revealed.

“Miss,” he knit his brow, the smooth plains of his forehead creasing in confusion, “Did you pay your tithing?”

“Tithing?” she scoffed, the discomfort overwhelmed by anger, “Is that what you’re calling it?”

The young man’s gaze ran up and down her figure, his lip curling in a semi-smirk as he rolled his eyes, turning away. His hand reached into his back pocket, fishing out a pack of oddly packaged cigarettes, picking one out and placing it between his teeth.

“Hey!” she called out, striding forward, her heels clacking viciously against the pavement, “I’m talking to you!”

“Old man,” the boy called, addressing the sermon-speaker as he rummaged through a rucksack placed against the wall, “Light me up.”

The elder shuffled through the contents of the bag, producing an old black lighter, flicking it on and placing it before the nub of the cigarette the boy held out. With a long, slow, puff of the stick, he turned around, eyes targeting the woman as she glared his way, her steps halted.

“What are you, some sort of gypsy?” She folded her arms, “What kind of scam are you pulling? This isn’t legal, I’m sure you know.”

“Is it?” he almost taunted, taking another hit of the cigarette. His mouth hung open, a soft breath releasing the smoke out in swirls about his figure.

“Yes. It is.”

“And are you a police officer, Miss?”

“W-What?” she stammered, “N-no but-“

“Then why should it bother you?” he tilted his head, those endlessly dark pupils resting on her own. The question might have been sarcastic- rude, even – yet his tone suggested nothing of the sort.

“If you don’t believe it, don’t ask for retribution.” He shrugged his shoulders, taking another puff of the cancer stick, “But don’t stop the others from getting it.”  

“You’re conning innocent people.” She frowned, “Naturally, it should bother me.”

“Why’s that?” he flicked the of the stick to the floor, crushing it into the cement with the heel of his shoe, “Because you’re an upstanding, law abiding citizen? It just helps you sleep at night?”

She bit her lip, the rouge tinge of a blush creeping up her cheeks. “And what about you? Does it help you to sleep at night? Working with this man- who is he- your father? Spreading lies and the like.”

The boy snorted mid-sentence, a loud, hearty laugh twisting his lips. “That old man is not my father, I can tell you that much.”

“Then why are you doing this?” she narrowed her eyes, “Don’t you have… other places to be?”

“There’s no need to sugar coat it, sweetheart.” He sighed, tucking his hands into the pockets of his jacket hidden from sight by the shawl. He took a step forward, his gaze steady upon her figure, “You want to know if I’m some homeless lunatic running down the streets screaming ‘Armageddon‘, don’t you?”

Her folded arms tightened around her torso as she took an unconscious step back, causing the boy to smile, his sharp eyes glinting with a kind of satisfaction.

“I don’t look it, do I?” he hummed, drawing closer, “Isn’t that what you’re thinking? ‘He must have a drug problem’. Or ‘his parents must have abandoned him.’ Isn’t that right?”

Her voice shrunk, her shoulders hunched in discomfort, “I didn’t say-“

“It’s ok.” He shrugged, “I get that a lot.”

The young man sighed, rummaging through his pockets for the cardboard carton of cigarettes, lighting another one himself this time. The proximity allowed her to smell the peppermint-clove flavor of the stick as he whistled out a cloud of smoke.

“It doesn’t matter, really.” He continued, his gaze wandering to the towering skyscrapers overhead, “I chose to be here and that’s all that really matters. Parents and whatnot, they’re irrelevant.”

“How old-“

“Also irrelevant.” He cut her off, sparing a quick glance her way, as if he’d anticipated the flicker of annoyance in her eyes.

“The fact of the matter is this, sweetheart. We live in a world where nothing can’t be sold. And if you’ve got it, you can sell it, for the right price, of course.”

“Nothing can’t be sold?” she furrowed her brow.

“All hail Capitalism.” He smiled, in a deep breath of smoke.

“Only if you’ve got it, though.” She replied, “And you don’t.”

“Don’t I?”

“Of course not!” she scoffed, “You and that old man- You’re both running a scam. A con. A hustle. That’s all this is and you know it.”

“What makes you think that?”

“Look at you!” she narrowed her eyes, “What part of this screams ‘legitimate’ to you? And anyways, you can’t sell absolution. No one can.”

“We don’t sell absolution.” He retorted, his voice taking on an edge she didn’t seem to trust, “We sell the idea of salvation. And everyone has that.”

She knit her brow in confusion, her lip pressing together as he finished the last of his cigarette, the smoke still somewhat lingering around his figure.

“You don’t see what’s wrong with that?”

“No. And what’s more, I can make you see it too.”

“I hardly believe that.”

“Then allow me,” he offered, a smile playing along the corners of his lips as he held a hand out for her.

She stared down at his open palm, his long, shapely fingers curled towards her as if in invitation. Her chest whirled with a sort of uneasiness, her instinct whispering beside her ear, urging her away. Yet, for all her reluctance, the boy held her in place, his eyes, those unfathomably deep pools of inky black coercing her towards him, whispering subtle words of their own, which she hadn’t quite figured out yet.

Her hand slipped into the warmth of his soft palm, a tingle running up her spine as his fingers coiled around her wrist, tingling like ice against her skin.

“I’m taking her out, old man.” He muttered as he dragged her by the arm back down the street from where she’d come. “We’ll find you later.”

“Wait-“ she stammered, attempting to pull her wrist free of his grip, “Where are you taking me? I have to-“

“Nowhere in particular, Miss.” He turned to glance at her from over his shoulder, his sharp almond eyes glinting beneath the pale sunlight, “You’ll get where you’re going eventually.”

“Hey- I have a schedule to keep, I can’t-“

He tugged at her arm harshly, his long legs making it difficult for her to keep up as he picked up his stride, turning this way and that through the various alleys and blocks, dizzying her as the scent of his cigarettes lingered in the air. Her heels scraped against the pavement as her feet practically dragged along with his, a creeping sense of fear building within her chest as the streets grew less and less populated, the pedestrians slowly morphing from congregations of pinstripe suits and pencil skirts to tattered trousers and ripped pullovers. It seemed as if the streets began to blur, nothing but the large, vague eyes of the passerbys taking any sort of focus. Their gazes appeared to follow her and only her as the boy led her further and further into the depths of downtown. Her legs began to shake, her voice quivering as she called out to him,

“Where are we?”

Abruptly, he came to a stop, causing her to collide against the broad plain of his back. He turned slowly, his raven eyes seeming darker all the more beneath the overwhelming buildings towering overhead.

“Never been to these parts of the city, have you, Miss?” he tilted his head, lighting himself another cigarette. The smoke danced out from between his lips, suffocating her in the small, cramped alleyway in which they’d stopped. The strong scent seeped into her, her vision losing focus.

“C-can you put that out?” she mumbled weakly, turning away to face the opening of the alley into the street.

“I want you to look at them,” he hummed, taking a step closer, his body pressing against her from behind, his breath at her ear, the smoke escaping his lungs every now and then, “Do you see them?”

Her skin crawled at the proximity, yet she dared not move away for fear of being abandoned by him in the sleazy outskirts of the city.

“You’re not looking, sweetheart.” He muttered, his hand reaching to grab her chin, forcing her head to face the opening of the alley. A short whimper escaped as he leaned in closer, his lips grazing against her ear as he whispered “Look at them.”

Small crowds of men and women dragged themselves back and forth passed the alley, seemingly unaware of their presence within the shadows of the niche. Their attire was shoddy, to say the least, the soles of their shoes tearing apart as they tread upon the pavement. Their skin sagged upon the bones of their hands, bruised and blued here and there, creases lining their eyes and mouths, giving their visages an appearance of permanent sorrow. These were a people dry of life, by life. Their occupations provided for them, insofar as sustenance and shelter went, but never more than that. Their lifelessness seemed almost to drag through the air, painting the buildings shallow shades of grey, lilting the small dandelions peeking through the cracks of the sidewalk.

“Why?” she mumbled, unable to give her question more depth.

The young man’s fingers left her chin, trailing down her neck, tracing her collarbone, finally falling the hold onto her arms. His breath lingered against her cheek as he replied, “You don’t know the answer already?”

She didn’t reply, but lowered her eyes. His hands fell from her arms as she heard him shuffle through his jacket, likely for another cigarette.

“’Imagine a society that subjects people to conditions that make them terribly unhappy then gives them the drugs to take away their unhappiness.’” He spoke up, flicking his lighter. The of the cigarette seared upon contact, the first of its embers flickering alight. She turned around, watching as his brow furrowed, his cheek hollowing in a deep inhale of the poison.

“’Our society tends to regard as a sickness any mode of thought or behavior that’s inconvenient for the system. This is plausible because, when an individual doesn’t fit into the system it causes pain to the individual as well as problems for the system.’” His lips curved in a circle, a large smoke ring following the shape of his mouth as he breathed out,  “’Thus, the manipulation of an individual to adjust him to the system is seen as a cure for a sickness and therefore as good.’”

The smooth plains of her forehead creased as she watched him take another hit, his lips before letting the smoke curl out.

“Who said that?”

He smiled, more to himself than anything else, his shoulder rising in a shrug, “Someone you wouldn’t care for, I’m sure.”

“Why are you telling me this?”

“You think what I’m doing is wrong, don’t you?”

“I do-“

“But you don’t see anything wrong with it when it’s systematically done?”

She frowned, turning to rest her back against the wall of the alley. “I don’t want to see any of this. I want to leave, now.”

“Of course you do.” He sighed, “Why would you?”

He leaned against the wall opposite her, watching as the embers of his cigarette burned slowly through the brown paper. “That’s just it, isn’t it? You’re fine, sweetheart. You’re all set up. With your Louis Vuitton heels- those are Louis Vuitton, aren’t they- and your black cards, and your nails all done, and your hair all curled. You go to the gym off 42nd every morning before work, keeping your body in shape- whatever shape is in- and you eat gmo-free country grown greek salads with imported oils and wine for lunch, and you don’t your boss for a promotion ‘cause you’ve got the education you needed to succeed from some ivy league school or other – Colombia, probably, right? And you’re doing just fine, sweetheart.”

Her blood boiled, her lips trembling as she spat a string of curses at the boy, growing even more aggravated at his complete lack of reaction. Another small smile played on his lips. He took one last puff of the stub of a cigarette before tossing it on the floor, not bothering to stomp out the fire.

“There’s nothing wrong with that, Miss.” He shrugged, leaning his head back to look her up and down. His black eyes lingered upon hers for a moment, sending chills through her skin, “I wouldn’t call you a hypocrite for it or anything. If anything, I’d congratulate you. You do look great, after all. And I’m sure you’re happy.”

She felt nervous at the blush that crept up her cheek.

“When you’re in a position like that, why would you want to wonder on people like these?” he nudged his head towards the exit of the alley. “You managed to pull through, didn’t you? So why can’t they? What, they’re depressed? So what? Take a couple pills and get over it. Isn’t that what this country is all about?”

“I never said that.”

“You didn’t have to.”

She narrowed her eyes, the palms of her hands pressed against the cold brick wall. “Then what are you trying to say?”

“It’s simple really.” He hummed, taking off his ski cap to run a hand through his raven black locks. “The only way out of this rut we’ve gotten ourselves into is to take action, isn’t it?”

“What r-“

“Not you, of course, Miss.” He smirked, “You’re just fine. You’re all set. But these people- they need to do something. You know the problem though, Miss?”

She didn’t respond. The smile remained plastered on his lips as he answered, “They’re lazy as .”

“No, really they are,” he almost chuckled at the look of shock upon her face, “After a long, hard day of working on their feet and cooking dinner and taking care of their kids, they’re just too damn tired to change their lives, aren’t they? What do you call that? A vicious circle?”

He pressed his lips together, his nostril flaring slightly as he took a deep breath. “You see, that’s what I wanted at first. To take action.”

She felt the rough, chipped texture of the wall behind her as her fingers ran over the walls, reminding her of where she was.

“But then I learned, these people don’t want revolution. They don’t want to make a difference for themselves. They want someone to do it for them. And what do you think of that, sweetheart? Do those Louis Vuittons fit nicer when it’s someone else buying them for you? Or when you earn it?”

“It’s not the same,” she replied softly, “They can’t help it.”

He laughed gently, turning his head to watch the men and women pass by. “Maybe you would’ve liked the man who said that quote.”

“What does this have to do with anything?” she finally spoke up, “With you selling ‘absolution’ or whatever you want to call it? It’s still a scam.”

He let out an exasperated sigh, stuffing his hands in the pockets of his jeans as he caught her gaze. “It’s what the people want, sweetheart. I’m just cashing in on it.”

“You’re a fraud.”

“Just like everyone else.” He snapped, “Isn’t that what the world is doing? Cashing in on people’s depression and mental instability, giving them pill after pill, therapist after therapist, to make them seem like they’re getting better, when really all they’re doing is creating a placebo effect. No one’s getting better. They’re only getting quieter. Complaining less. Going with the flow, the way society wants them to. I’m doing the same. These people, they don’t want to get off their fat ing asses and make a change for themselves, they want God to do it for them. So I’m giving them the pills they need to make it seem like that’s happening. Keeping them quiet.”

“How is that gonna work?” she nearly yelled, pushing herself off the wall, “How long is your little con going to play before people start realizing you’re a ing sham? When their salvation doesn’t come? When they aren’t saved from whatever miserable ing life they’re having?”

“It bothers your doesn’t it?” he mumbled.

“Of course it ing bothers me!” she curled her hands into fists, “You said you were helping these people. You said you wanted change, but look at you, selling out, the ing hypocrite you are.”

In an instant, he pulled her against him, his hands cupping her face as he exclaimed in hushed tones, “That’s exactly it.”

Her eyes flickered between his own, the fire within their inky pools burning bright in the dark alley. “Because it’s only once they’ve realized God’s not coming to save them that they’re going to do a thing.”

She pursed her lips, staring him square in the face as she hissed, “You’re a ing lunatic.”

His ruddy lips stretched in a smile, a low, hearty chuckle rumbling from his chest. “Not at all, sweetheart.”

His eyes traveled over her features, his one hand falling down to her waist, the other rubbing circles into her cheek with his thumb. His gaze fell to her lips, his fingers curling around her chin to lift them towards his own.

“I already said everyone has the idea of salvation in them, didn’t I?” he mumbled, each word brushing against her lips, “I’m only selling it back to them.”

She leaned away before his lips could capture hers, her hand coming up between them. “You also said you’d prove to me it wasn’t wrong, but you didn’t.”

He grabbed a hold of her hand, observing her frail bones as if he’d never seen such a thing before.

“I might have lied a bit,” he said, placing a small kiss on her fingers. His eyes gazed up at her, fierce and dark as his lips grazed against her skin. It seemed, for a moment, as if he were looking through her, the black of his iris dilating in excitement as he mumbled, “But it woke you up, didn’t it?”