Sunday, September 12, 2004

Vigil at the Grave of King Kong

It is midnight in Manhattan and a line of mourners stretches all the way from 42nd Street to the foot of the Empire State Building. Each bears a single white candle before them. The glow haunts their sorrowful faces. And why shouldn't it? For this grave looms over all others. Marble white and full of fear, the magnificent sarcophagus of the fallen Gorilla God stands four stories high and takes up two city blocks-- a slab of cruel stone surrounded by a fence of wrought iron in the Art Deco style. Etched into the side of the tomb is a single word, so large, you can read it clearly all the way from the Brooklyn Bridge:


On this night, wreaths of jungle flowers will be laid at the foot of the tomb. Snake skins draped over the iron fence, in triumph. Virgins in white will swoon against the wall until dawn. Donations are accepted. Vandals will break into the Museum of Natural History and in the morning, Dinosaur teeth will be found amidst the candle wax and other offerings.


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