I screwed a hook into my ceiling, and from said hook I hang my bike. My apartment now looks like a "...real New York apartment", says Katie, "like, 'yeah, my bike's hanging over my guitars and the vacuum cleaner next to the fridge, so what?'"
Last night, late, riding my bike home down Dean Street (where sketchy lives and the factories just don't stop!) was like riding through a cloud that lost its ambition and ended up wetly moping along the ground. The bike and I were covered in a fine mist that, when I hung my bike up, left wet, streaky black marks on the wall and ceiling.
2 comments:
My grandma used to own a house on Dean St, btw Brooklyn & New York Aves. We lived there when my mom was in the police academy. Very interesting place - how are you liking it?
Well, I'm enjoying it a lot more. It's a long way from the tree-lined lanes of bucolic Queens, but I'm finding places that make me happy. I'm not really a "city" (read: garbage in the streets, gang tags, downstairs neighbors fighting at all hours, poorly maintained buildings, stink-eye from the guys on the corner, atmosphere of poverty and desperation) guy, but I am a "city" (read: quick access to museums, theatre, music, subways, good food, people I like) guy. So I'm riding out the contradictions.
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