An Ode To Bushwick

Oh, Bushwick! They call you East Williamsbug, but for what? You are Bushwick, my Bushwick, and will remain so forever in my heart. We began together some time ago, first at Kosciusko, then at Flushing-Broadway and finally upon the coveted L.

I still remember when your J train would rattle past my window and I’d catch my breath and sit very still, until the great lumbering mass had sped away. I played that it were dragon, and I the princess, cowering in my dusty tower while the beast gnashed through the forest.

I remember that below my window the old men would sit selling their curiosities—I’d always wonder who it was that needed a magnet in the shape of sushi—and they’d yell to me as I’d pass, “mornin’ snowflake!”

I’d take my coffee from the Greek diner and every morning the owner’s son would forget my order: “no milk two sugars?” “milk one sugar?” “no sugar milk?” Every day he’d try a different combination, not one of them correct.

Oh, Bushwick! I left you for a while, for a while to visit my home town on the other side of the globe, but my heart was always calling for you, always bleeding for you, always hankering to be back in your grimy womb. The relief that flooded me when I returned was unnatural; it felt like coming home even though, Bushwick, you’re not my home. Not really.

We told ourselves when I returned, “this is not forever”; we knew our reluctant time would eventually come to an end but we went on falling love anyway, Bushwick, and how sweet our romance has been. Now in the crusty rows of warehouse lofts and artists studios, I love you more than ever—but that (until now) nebulous foreboding is upon us, and I must leave you.

So now I say goodbye:

Goodbye Swallow café and your delicious ice coffee;
Goodbye, Brooklyn Natural and your over-priced delights (I’ll miss you, Apple sandwich);
Goodbye, The Narrows (see ya, Donny);
Goodbye, lady who sometimes poos on the stairs at the Morgan Avenue subway; Goodbye, man who stands across the subway platform smiling and masturbating (are you two a couple?);
Goodbye Robertas (I’ll be back don’t you worry);
Goodbye, gorgeous Gregory from upstairs;
Goodbye, neighbors and your terrible bands;
Goodbye, Lady Cave, the windowless bedroom;
Goodbye, silent night.

Oh, Bushwick! Goodbye! TC mark

image – Yosemite Campfire

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  • http://twitter.com/whoismau Mauricio

    Filed under #hipstersobstory.

    But really, I liked it.

    • Anonymous

      She preempted hipster-related criticism with a witty tag. Sorry, nice try.

      • http://twitter.com/whoismau Mauricio

        Touché.

      • http://twitter.com/whoismau Mauricio

        Touché.

      • http://twitter.com/whoismau Mauricio

        Touché.

  • http://www.facebook.com/josea1 Jose Aguilar-Alcantar

    Oh Bushwick…I miss my ciggs and Orwell Cafe binge.

  • http://www.facebook.com/josea1 Jose Aguilar-Alcantar

    Oh Bushwick…I miss my ciggs and Orwell Cafe binge.

  • Guest

    down with brooklyn natural up with mr kiwi

  • http://twitter.com/walterdavis walter davis

    i don’t think that i like this. this is my opinion and i wanted it to be heard

  • Dambrosi Karen

    Kat you’re the best! Be my friend!

  • che

    and where are you saying hello to?

  • http://twitter.com/ingenuegle Egle Makaraite

    Best part of this article: “are you two a couple?”

  • Guest

    DON’T YOU LIKE KING’S COUNTY, KAT?  WHAT ABOUT THE WRECK ROOM?  

  • Uhnonnymus

    Go back to the midwest.

  • Pfft

    you’re the kind of person that stays somewhere for three weeks and tells everyone you ‘lived’ there. 

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