Yesterday I played chicken with rain that never came. The skies were laden with rainclouds (or what looked like rainclouds) that, according to forecasts, would unload on us.
On my way back from the Canarsie Pier, I passed through a still-rundown area of Brownsville, Brooklyn, where a riot of color burst through the sea of gray.
This building houses the East Brooklyn Community High School. Its stated goals include helping students "get back on track" toward their high school diplomas and GEDs. To that end, it offers not only the kind of academic attention and counseling such students need, but also access to services.
I would argue that the murals on the building are also vital. I mean, what does someone who's spent his or her life in a neighborhood rife with poverty and other ills need more than hope? And what can offer hope--or at least a welcoming environment--better than an expression of creative aspiration?
It's good to see a reflection of the vitality to be found even in what has long been one of Brooklyn's--and New York's--poorest communities, especially where one can see so many remnants of what was.
I don't know how long ago the Chinese restaurant went out of business, or moved away. I wonder whether the name is meant to evoke Americans' ideas of what is Chinese, or perhaps cuisine from the Wuhan region was served there. In either event, if that restaurant were still in that building, it might've wanted to change its name, given Wuhan's connotation with the origins of COVID-19.
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