Behind the Scenes of:
A BIRDHOUSE IN BROOKLYN
On the pavement at the intersection of
Lexington and 97th Street, Lucy saw her first De La Vega. A simple
chalk drawing of a small fish hopping from its bowl, neatly labeled: Become your dream. The Upper East Side’s
version of tagging seemed pretty tame compared with Williamsburg’s more brazen
graffiti that grew along walls like a psychedelic rash. Further up the street
was another signed aphorism: During
peaceful moments watch for danger.
Lucy gauged her surroundings: downtown
were streets of sober elegance defined by urbane brownstones and avenues of
high-end retail; to the north, public housing—the projects—that marked Harlem.
Across the avenue, the Burrito Deli abutting an open-air parking lot. Spanish
Harlem.
Along 97th Street from Park
Avenue little American flags stuck into fallow planters on buildings pockmarked
with age were similar to the snippets of patriotism that sprouted from
Williamsburg windowsills immediately after 9/11. High rises reappeared on the
south side of the street. Peaked shrubs behind chain-link fence topped with
loops of menacing razor wire. To the north, railroad tracks shot out from
undercover, running through Harlem like a scar.
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