Under the morning rays of a New York City sun, traffic was terrible. Nevertheless, energy circulated around every corner of the bustling streets. Just another restless Tuesday cologned with gasoline, propane, and coffee. Grind to grind, shot to shot, and dog to dog, people learned to get along with the hassles of one sunrise and the next.

Posters littered the dirty canvas of urban sprawl: corners, fronts, and apartment sides. Everywhere, paperback letters hurled warnings about political affiliations. But the news was of no concern to the street artist; not to the performer, the demo distributor or entrepreneur, and not the morning jogger.

Man's relief from the terror of the morning workday – Smiles. Sometimes they were scarce, despite the homeless man on the corner of Greenwich and Fulton promoting them with a cardboard sign. Alas, the aim of a weekday, even a sunny one, was to keep moving.

So, a single wanderer kept going. He contemplated, second-guessed, and watched through his thick sunglasses the day-to-day minutia.

"Watch the road!"

He could barely hear the exclamation outside his headphones, but turned his attention left, toward the street, and found the middle finger outside of a taxi window.

Muffled vehicle engines, ghostly faces under urban boughs. He passed the whites and reds of cement and brick, in the direction of the tallest building he could find, past another tall building. Another squirrel crossed his gaze, past the solemn structure with arches for windows and a cross in the center. Greenery gathered underfoot until he reached the wet squares of New York City's most recent memorial.

Among the souls visiting the park—venturing through bushes, meditating throughout concrete—he missed one peculiar pedestrian stuck in a phone. He was a young Caucasian wearing a green hoodie, casual jeans, and thick-rimmed glasses. The smartphone maneuvered him, guided his eager steps as he failed to see the impending trench coat.

"Ah!" The student grabbed the pool's edge to avoid falling. In recovery, he finally saw the wanderer.

The wanderer, a taller man enclosed in a white trenchcoat, stood upright and unfazed. His hands reverted to the rim of his thick sunglasses.

Meagerly, the student jerked upright; his gaze fell on the sunglasses and large headphones over a beanie. Only vestiges of pale skin underneath.

"Apologies!" the stranger exclaimed.

"That may have been my fault," said the student, scratching his head before returning to his phone. "Damn, almost had a Squirtle."

"No matter. It may be that I could have avoided you if my thoughts would only return to what they were."

The student escaped his phone after catching an air of remorse. They had collided by a pool, a grand square of black reflection. Placing the device in his pocket, he looked back at the names inscribed in marble rim before turning back.

"Did you lose someone? If you did, I didn't mean to offend. Well, I never mean to offend."

But the stranger shook his head. "These are not the names clouding my thoughts."

"Just out for a stroll? Procrastinating? Same."

"I do wish it were a simple stroll..." And the strange man's eyes swept the ground. Quickly, he looked up. "Excuse us. Questions, they keep stirring in my mind. Can I confide in a stranger like yourself to answer just a few?"

The student shrugged. "I guess. I got some time before classes."

"You attend an academy?" The stranger inched closer.

The student eyed him. "Yea, I go to a University."

"Which one?"

"Columbia."

"One of the good ones, yes?"

"Heh. You aren't from around here."

"It is, as they say, a long stor—" He seemed tiredly mid-sentence. "We should sit down."

They paced backward a few feet, to a bench guarded by white oaks. As they awkwardly sat in view of the black water, the cool November breeze set in, and the wanderer wasted no time. "Do you think the planet is in a fair state?"

With a wince, the student replied, "Kinda depends."

"Because you do not know? Or because it is a question that cannot be answered?"

"I mean, it could be better. But it could always be better, right? It's a really broad question."

And the stranger looked away, twiddling his thumbs in silence. "I suppose you are right." Then he returned more eagerly. "What of these posters around the city? Could your election improve things?"

The student cynically scoffed, a white smile painting his face. But a few seconds into the question, the smile faded, and his demeanor retreated into sobriety. "I... Things aren't looking great. And I can't really explain how it ended up that way. Maybe if you asked a Political Science major." Looking over at the wanderer's lap, he noticed his latex thumbs still twiddling and his knees quietly trembling. "Are you okay, man?"

"Yes!" he wobbled. "I've just been without my, umm... Something once calmed me."

"A medication?"

"Yes! A medication! For the past few months, I have been without this medication, and I don't perceive anything as I once did."

An emphatic look then dropped from the student to the stranger. "So that's why"—he coughed—"Why go without your medication?"

"I've been here for too long, thus exhausted all of it. There is no more."

"You try a pharmacy?"

"I know it does not exist here. Only where I'm from."

"Well, you can Amazon that stuff. Or something. What's it called?"

"Hmm?"

"The name of the medication."

But the wanderer sighed, losing himself in thought and the overcast. He stood from their bench and made eye contact one last time. "What is your name?"

"It's Adam," said the student.

"Adam from Columbia. I wish you grace on your path, and hope what comes next only befits your aspirations."

"I appreciate that," Adam said, extending his hand. "What's your name?"

The wanderer stared at the hand suspiciously, at first, then met the student's grip with his own, answering, "Mik'ael."

"Mick Al. Nice meeting you."

"And you."

They parted ways, one toward the memorial and the other sauntering into the city's tallest tower nearby.