bounced around the old neighborhood with a friend. Very happy ( and relieved) that not much has changed since I left as everything in this town seems to always be under the shadow of a nameless, faceless developer. Sure you had the occasional bar or boutique shop but they were oddities that blended in. Sidewalks still spilled with the stuff of people's lives from the past. An old cast iron teapot belonging to an Indian family, an old handle dangling with iron keys, Hebrew letters carved into a plaque, glassware, food carts making fresh empanadas, gyros and anything else. multiple tongues spoken and screamed from every corner, the bakeries, shoe shops and restaurants.
I would have stayed in this neighborhood, except the roommate was a bit off her knocker ( for another post) and I didn't quite feel that I belonged, it wasn't my home I was living in someone else's space with only a suitcase full of clothes and whatever books I could carry with me. So I dragged everything over sixty blocks down to a place that became my own.
Pass a man selling book bags. My friend recognizes him as she has bought bags from him before.
"Evening Ladies, how are ya?"
"You're downtown sometimes aren't you?"
"Sure, why you seen me before?"
"Yeah. I bought a bag from you before."
"Yup, I take everything with me so I move all over. You can't shoot a moving target eh?" He smiles and winks.
We smile back and continue on.
Deconstructing the High Line - Next Tuesday, October 24 at 6:30pm, the editors of the book Deconstructing the High Line: Postindustrial Urbanism and the Rise of the Elevated Park will ex...
18 hours ago