The
year I turned 17 my parents moved from an apartment in the Bronx to a
private home in Brooklyn. It was a traumatic move for me. I hated
it. Reaching “civilization”now required a bus ride plus an hour on
the subway. Our new neighbors were a xenophobic bunch who lived in
fear of everyone else. I moved out when I was 20. I think I still have a demented cousin who
lives there. We haven't been in touch for 40 or so years, so I am
not sure. And not anxious to find out. Today
I still feel a vague sense of discomfort just about every time I
venture accords the East River. One day I will add more details.
Mean time, today's Brooklyn snapshot:
No comments:
Post a Comment