Wednesday, April 22, 2009
When I was about 16 or 17 I found D.U.M.B.o.
It had no name then. Vinegar Hill was essentially still lost to time, yet to be recovered.
Of course there were no state parks, no grass actually except for the sculpted hills surrounding the BQE, no condos of course, not even the art studios that last longer in memory than they did in reality had been brought into existence yet.
With the exception of a few fellow Puerto Ricans I saw in the windows of a squat apartment building on the corner of Front Street, there were essentially no residences. It was no where. Basically if someone asked me that first day where I had been I would have said,"the waterfront, down by the docks".
On my soon to be stolen bike, I bumped slowly over cobblestones, tracing the path of phantom trolley cars along actual tracks, trying so hard to get my tires to fit into their grooves.
At night, down by the docks in brooklyn, I'm reminded of that unrefined place.