text: Paul Greenberg was the nicest man that lived in Bushwick. No, honestly, he was. The type to possess that supernatural ability to stem the tide of personal disasters before the waves of misery could crash. Whether it took the form of a kind word, late-night phone call, or a surprise present, he lit the path of life with kindness for not only his friends but each soul that stopped long enough for Paul to flash a grin and share a laugh. That's why it was so confusing when you faced his bright, kind, sympathetic face when he printed out your parking ticket. The anger inside you would burn into your guts as it struggled to release itself. Instinctively, your mouth would clamp shut or stutter as some essential subconscious part of you understood there was no malice coming from the man before you. Even worse, you could see in his warm, amber eyes a generous love for each person. You'd accept the ticket with a resigned confusion. A shock that comes from meeting real-life angels. So his energy swept through the boroughs as he continued to hand out tickets, smiles, and small prayers for harmony. Some took it upon themselves to try and muster an angry response or stern word for Paul, but it fell away like autumn leaves as his eyes crinkled with understanding. Life had yet to conjure a wave of anger too fierce for Paul to quell. The day those sweet, amber eyes didn't accompany a ticket, the people revolted. Four different meter maids found themselves at the mercy of enraged motorists as a frenzy swept through the boroughs. The absence of Paul's light created monsters of mere mortals. They stalked the street in a vain attempt to locate their blue vested saint. The last light of goodness to flicker and die in the city that never sleeps. A frenzied chant of "Where's Paul" echoed through the boroughs as the citizens seek their unlikely savior. The status of Paul Greenberg still unknown; the city fell to the riots within two weeks. But his legacy burns through the streets. Soon, every act of kindness met the battle cry of "You're not Paul!" even that quickly reduced to a screech that spoke only of hate. Hate that's born out of loss. The world could only watch as chaos consumed the crown jewel of the United States. Eventually, even the Pope stepped in as he decreed Paul, a saint for his love. Only the crowds wanted more. Being a saint made Paul equal to other saints, and their Paul had no equal. He rose to a God, and with it brought the destruction of the church. The horde tolerated no false idols. No Jesus. not even God was safe from their fires. &#x200B; "Let there be light; let there be Paul. Without his guidance, we shall fall. We shall fall. We. Shall. Fall." &#x200B; And so they fell. Upon the land, the people, and the backbone of collective knowledge. Humanity was undone- by the Sinners of Paul.