East Williamsburg

Cycled right into Greenpoint today. Scenes of life flashing past the corner of my eye. The industrial neighbourhood I live peppered with painted walls on inustrial buildings, warehouses. A spot of bar pops up in the middle of some metallurgical warehouses. Young, tattooed, bearded hipsters. Keychains, tattered jeans, frazzled hair, twenty somethings. Life in warehouses converted to hipsterdom. Life of work and toil with metal sheets replaced by rattling spray cans. Rode by some chinese factories, plastic manufacture. Tattooed in a pink polo tee, yet strangely, his canvas does not fit the set. On the road to Greenpoint rode past an Italian neighbourhood. Popeyes and spinach ladies were around me. Popeyes with families taking pride in their self identity. Walking about, xenophobia rile with them. Everything seemed to be about protecting, protection. But from what? Into the heart of Greenpoint I arrived. Bustling street. Nassau Ave. Trains are broken for a year now. Only way to get here is wheels on tarmac. But it was alive. The spirit of the young The spirit of the new The spirit of the raw Raw but pretend pretend pretend. I rode past all. I smiled at some. They smiled back. I rode on, back through the italian job, the industrial complexes, cycled past a strip club parked with interstate truckers in an untamed area. And now I am back here, on my computer, hashing out the happenings this evening. 6.52 miles. I think it was a good Saturday.