Inklings 2023

The city comes alive at night. Tonight, there’s a storm. You feel ice-cold raindrops piercing your hair, running down the umbrella of the struggling actress in front of you who left behind the distant and underfunded reservation her family has been confined to for 100 years. You see a blinding neon blue sign, advertising the price-gouging pharmacy chain newly-owned by a trust fund kid who has never known hunger, bankruptcy, or the love of his father on graduation day. You smell the smoky seasoning of roasted chicken, the gradually intensifying rain failing to hamper the skill of the cook supporting his family after his older brother was suddenly silenced by a police officer. You taste the lingering sweet lychee syrup of boba, mixed at that new place two blocks down by a college student working a summer job so she can afford medical school and be the doctor her friend needed three years ago. You hear a car honking, the driver about to be late to his son’s basketball game because the driver in front of him is busy crying to a Frank Ocean song for the fifth time this week instead of making the left turn. You want to tune it all out. But you can’t. Because if you do, you’ve made yourself blind, deaf, numb. Lost in the concrete jungle, unable to break free. Unable to truly feel. SENSORY OVERLOAD Vali Hassan ’23 26