Wandered home friday from Williamsburgh – walking by dead reckoning on the strange streets that grow out of the navy yard like vines and past the flotilla of exotic cultures with the hassidic men in black tar suits with the fur donut Russian birthday cake hats and the sweat stained scowl of one who asks “Why these clothes God? Why Now? Here? In Brooklyn? In the summer? Why?” and further to the various Latin Americas and the salsa music and the good smells and then floating through a Hatian caribbean and the Jamiaca’s smell of marijuanna that floats out and over the enormous Hip Hop brick buildings with the beer and the gold chains and I kept the Williamsburgh bank building to my right and tried to head towards the library and Grand Army Plaza where I washed up in search of jewels and treasure – full of vice.
