Reveries of Robbery

It was the second less-than-sweltering day in a row. One could almost feel the invisible gratitude radiating off of the strolling mass of early morning commuters. No sweat stains today. I walked as everyone else in Manhattan walked on a midweek business day: with purpose. And yet, rising just above the determination, like vegetable oil rising to the surface of a pot of water, buoying optimism saturated my morning outlook.
Fifth avenue held its usual bustle of taxis, busses, and limousines, all bordered by sidewalks teeming with the particular flow of so many pedestrians. I imagined how, from the sky, the busy thoroughfare must have resembled a section of artery under a microscope, the people and automobiles like thousands of bloods cells, charging onward with the general current, clumping up at crosswalks and stop lights only to eventually rediscover motion.
I made my way from 53rd to 42nd, stopping en route to buy a few pieces of fresh fruit from a lone vendor. Once I arrived at my usual morning destination- the central branch of the New York Public Library- I mounted the grand stone steps, skirting the larger-than-lifelike lion statue and walking directly to one of the shaded aluminum tables with their rickety peeling-paint folding chairs.
After settling into my seat I couldn't help but overhear the conversation drifting over from my neighboring table: three construction workers were on break, smoking cigarettes, discussing a robbery committed by a man dressed- robe, mask and all- as Darth Vader. A series of laughs erupted from the trio as the expected jokes were made about the criminal employing the force to overcome the guards, cutting through the vault with his light saber, and emerging from the building with Princess Leia waiting in the gettaway vehicle.
I smiled to myself at hearing their jollity while imagining the incredible scene with no small amount of imaginative details: The starred glass over the teller's counter where Vader had thrown an impeding guard; the rhythmic, mechanical sound of his labored, robotic breathing; the weapons belonging to the security personnel floating peacefully above their heads, suspended by the Sith lord's dark capabilities.
And as the sun filtered down through the breeze-shifted leaves of the canopy of birch trees towering above the wiry sidewalk furniture, I enjoyed its soothing warmth and spent another five minutes radiating gratitude to see what I see, hear what I hear, live where I live.