On the subway platform with the harsh morning sun dividing the urban landscape into dark and light. The iron posts that support the platform are shedding their dark green skins. And behind them red brick and iron window frames. The train is coming. Just fleeting moments left together. The crowd of self employed ebbs and flows on the platform across from us, flowing into the city. We are on the other side. It is quiet here. There are no announcements for trains leaving the city. We wait, knowing any moment a train will come and I will get on, with my two big bags, spilling my $4 black coffee, and turning around just in time to watch the platform doors close with you on the other side.
We don’t like Bushwick, and like most people, we won't be here long. That is the problem with this place. But thats not the reason I am leaving.