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The rain.

The Big City, A Work of Experimental Poetry

The Big City. Culture shock runs rampant. Wall Street is bustling, and money is being spent. Enjoy this piece of experimental poetry.

The raindrops falling quickly on your coat reminds you of that one day when you were young on your father’s boat.

Shivering as you smell the gasoline and viewing the faces of those walking by, you think to yourself how not a single person has said hi.

You reconsider your life choices, but you remember you have only just gotten off the plane; none of these people would understand; you are just a boy from Maine.

Looking down, you bump into someone. “Hey, watch it!” is your greeting. You look back, but briefly, you must make it to your business meeting.

Wearing your old raincoat that everyone at home got many years back, you watch as all the busy people slide into a Cadillac.

Construction is ongoing, so you pause behind the rest; as you look around, you are shocked how finely these people are dressed.

Following the crowd, as they make a detour, you arrive at the building, at last, safe and secure.

Realizing you are drenched, you try to dry yourself off, only to hear an older gentleman cough.

He looks like the man that you came to meet, a typical guy off of Wall Street.

He shakes your hand, and you head into his office. In awe, you look at how it is flawless.

You sit down in a large leather chair and relax comfortably as you try to fix your hair.

The man asks, “So is it true you wish to receive a loan?” You reply, “Yes, sir,” as you notice his cologne.

Going through your mind is the thought, “What a culture shock!” He continues to look down, and you notice his face never changes from a frown.

At last, he says, “You are denied, good day, sir.” You look at him in hatred, but it was all just a blur.

Spending your savings on this ticket to New York City, you had put all your hopes in this essentially.

You march out of his room in a flurry of emotion, as all the other associates look on to see the commotion.

Then you quickly determine you will wander around; you realize you cannot go back to your town.

Failing your family was never an option. Flipping through travel brochures at the rest stop, you decide that you will travel to Boston.

Your uncle lives in Boston, and he runs the distillery. You decide it is, after all, better than going out and joining the 1st artillery.

You catch a cab with your last few cents, and you loudly exclaim, “let the future commence!”

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Author: Collin

Philosopher, Poet, Writer, Apologist. A man of many interests, Collin serves in multiple elected positions in the benefit of his fellow man. He is currently pursuing further traditional education. He started Philosophical Rambler out of his passion for writing and sharing thought provoking stories with others. All work posted is written solely by him.

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