The Intersection: Alien on Board

THE STATEN ISLAND FERRY creeps away from the Manhattan pier. People are always complaining about how expensive New York City is, how everything costs a fortune. I disagree. There is a multitude of things one can do for free. Taking the Staten Island Ferry back and forth is one of them.

This time, there is an alien on board. An extraterrestrial. He is also a prophet. "I'm not from here! I'm from worlds away," he shouts above the crowd, making a flourishing gesture toward the heavens with his arm. His arm is fleshy, apparently boneless. The alien has cleverly disguised himself to look like a middle-aged, overweight man who speaks with a West Indian accent. He slobbers, too. And there is no graceful bending movement in his legs when he walks; no subtle transference of balance from heel to toe. Everything comes crashing down like an assault against creation as he ambles along. The suffrage of gravity was never so evident. Only an alien could produce such belabored movement.

"I've been sent here from worlds away," he reiterates, "to let you know just how fucked up you all are!" He looks over the crowd very seriously. "You are all out of your minds!"

He stops, exasperated. There is silence. Only the purring motor of the Staten Island Ferry.

Meanwhile, on a planet worlds away, a human disguised as an alien lumbers about in a strange costume. His movements are painful, belabored.