Snippet #2710332

After traveling all day, Jackson arrived in Seattle that evening with the slightly ruffled aspect of a sea-bird blown off course. The light had faded to an industrial gray as he climbed off of the midtown bus and hit the street. His heart scrambled and floundered with excitement at even the most innocuous of noises; car horns honking, the rattle of the cages around store fronts being pulled closed, even church clocks tolling the hour. There was an edge to the clangor, an inwrought fairy-tale sense of adventure. On the corner, a street musician played a handful of simple runs that hung tinny and fragile in the spring air, hat on the sidewalk for spare change, dwarfed in the shadow of a skyscraper. Most of the cities occupants milled about the streets with hushed voices and purposeful footsteps, eyes gliding across Jackson coolly as if they didn't quite see him. It was an overwhelming amount to take in, the landscape so vastly different from everything he'd ever bore witness to. He decided upon walking for a bit, to gain his bearings, clinging to the bag slung over his shoulder like a lifeline. Traversing a few blocks revealed more of the city, but it looked startlingly much like the part he'd only just left. The buildings were simply too tall to see over and were all linked together like refugees holding hands so's not to drift apart and become lost. He felt a bit dejected. It wasn't as if he'd expected a huge neon sign advertising, "Ghetto this way, welcome visitors!" But he also hadn't expected to be quite so at odds with simple navigation. He'd learnt and relearned town after town after all...but that was a much smaller model to study. At the present he was impatient, and night would fall soon. He walked about a block more before approaching the first stranger to round the bend.

Now, starry-eyed tourists were, in general, ignominiously shunted in most big cities by the natives. Having grown up in a small town, Jackson wasn't accustomed to the level of indifference that these people had for the problems of strangers. That being said, Jackson also had a certain effervescence about him that was hard to ignore...not that he really knew what "effervescent' meant. He was fairly certain it had something to do with his face. Any level of attractiveness seemed to be a prerequisite for effervescence, really. He smiled brightly at the man, thrusting out a hand to shake in a gesture that seemed oddly formal for a passing greeting. ""Hey there, I'm sorry to bother you but I could really use some help.""

The man eyed his hand with mistrust, hesitantly freeing his own from his pockets. "I don't have any money." He seemed to be bracing himself to reject a sales pitch from what he assumed was a street peddler.

""Money...OH! No, man I don't need that kind of help."" He laughed. ""I'm just trying to find the ghetto...and I don't have a clue which direction to head. It's my first day here."" Jackson said somewhat abashedly.

The man sighed, finally taking the hand in front of him and giving it one brisk shake. "You a tourist? I wouldn't waste my time with that nonsense. There's not much to see."

Jackson smiled harder.

"Which ghetto were you after, there's like four of 'em."

Jackson faltered. ""Four? Seriously?""

The man nodded, suddenly bemused.

""Um, well, which ever is closest then I guess.""

He tried to wrap his brain around the difficulty of the task ahead of him. Combing through four different ghettos was more than he had prepared for, but he had his resolve. Surely someone in the first, were his brother not there, could direct him to the proper place. The man began to give him directions to the nearest location, which was only a few blocks southeast of where they stood. No sooner had he finished, he had already started shuffling back onto his path down the side walk.

"You can't miss it, the walls give it away." He called, wondering what this dumb farmer's kid planned to do seeing as you needed a permit to even get in.

Jackson, absolutely clueless, waved goodbye with vigor. ""THANKS SO MUCH!"" he shouted as he lolloped in the opposite direction with a thinly concealed glee.

Once he had found the ghetto, he wondered at how anyone could, in fact, miss it. The moment it was in view, it completely consumed his field of vision. It was just this massive concrete wall, endlessly uninterrupted shy of one wide and ponderous gate laced with barbed wire. Currently, it hung open, an official looking pair of men posted on either side. Crowds of workers streamed in, joyless as a swarm of hornets, entering through the iron doors. Jackson felt a shiver of disconnection, their expressions hung tantalizingly just beyond reach of his comprehension like a hiccup of lost time or a few frames snipped out of a film.

The dense block of workers were, however, not human and that was all that Jackson needed to know at this juncture. He stood there for a while, eyeing their curious armbands. These were things he'd only ever heard about, never seen. One of the men ushering the wolves through studied Jackson sharply for a minute before growing bored and bouncing back around to those entering. It was obvious to him now that they wouldn't post guardsmen outside unless it was to keep unbanded individuals out or rather keep those with the band in. He briefly considered lifting a band off of someone before disabusing the notion. It wouldn't do to keep someone from being able to get home, back to their family. The word stung in his mind. He'd have to find an alternative route in, perhaps over the wall if it didn't prove too high...or maybe a service entrance. He slid back onto the side walk to disappear from view and come up with a plan.