I wont be there to see Helen and Tommy, slowly and painfully squeezed out of the one last remaining local; Tommy’s fault perhaps, but Helen’s tanacity will only allow for a whithering, rather than a conversion… I hear they’re closing the “Crack Hotel”.
I hear that they’ll be booting out Patrick, Elvis and Fozzie… I hear that Greenpoint is becoming another moment in time, a moment in time us vagabonds have seen over and over and over again. Where is Parkdale; Queen Street; The West and East Villages… Where is Williamsburg and Dumbo… Bedstuy, Harlem and the South Bronx on the verge…
Where is the Northeastern inner city; where is North America? I hear that rents are cheap and the sunsets are lovely. I hear that the people are warm and friendly; and that they are eager to build their country. I hear that the jungle remains untouched, and that you can drink from every stream up stream of the last toilet on the hill.
We’ll hear the blast of the steam whistle on this weeks arriving cruise ship… and we’ll hope we’ll be there at least ten years before the all-inclusive starbucks jungle island eco-resort lays waste another mini-paradise.