I can't help it. I'm a NY girl. You can't take it out of me, you can't break me, you can't erase it. I love me some good pizza, a great bagel, a convenient open all night bodega, a Snapple while walking the hot streets, a bag over my shoulder that holds whatever I might need out and about, subway fare, cab fare, a new exhibit at a local museum, a street fair, an artsy movie theater, a hot knish from a street vendor, a tucked away path in Prospect or Central Park, quick jaunts to friend's houses to stop in to get something before hitting the town, outdoor seating in a hip, dog friendly cafe, the view of the Manhattan skyline from the Brooklyn Heights Promenade, and on and on. I have dreams of being on the BQE still. I have dreams of the ocean at Rockaway and Manhattan Beach. When I say home I mean Brooklyn. When I think of my future I am there, NY State. I'm always, constantly, thoroughly, inevitably, incurably, unabashedly in a NY State of Mind.
My heart jumps a little when I cross over the Verazzano from S.I. I can see Brooklyn in all her glory as I left her last when I was there usually two months before. She is changing quickly now. She's not the same as she was when I spent all my hours there. Yet I am always haunted by her memories. Powerful imagery from the Brooklyn of my youth and that I remember so fondly. She's tucked away amidst the regentrifying and the new construction and the changing real estate.
She's still brash and uncouth and gritty and raw, ornery and agitated everyday. I wouldn't trade her for all the Ellicott Cities or all the Columbias, ever.
Never.
This comment has been removed by a blog administrator.
ReplyDelete