The other day, late in the afternoon, I rode to East Williamsburg for my monkeypox booster. Something told me to be sure I had my lights with me. Good thing. On my way back, I made a couple of wrong turns then took a couple of deliberate detours through industrial areas that straddle Brooklyn and Queens.
At that time of day, factories and warehouses close and the evening exodus begins. On some streets, I zigged and zagged among 18-wheelers, pickup trucks and hipsters on scooters--the latter on their way to clubs found, sometimes, on the same block as, or around the corner from, the workshops where workers--none on scooters--were leaving.
My wanderings took me to an industrial area on the Queens side--in North Maspeth, to be exact--that I'm not sure any of the scooter crowd is even aware of. A railroad track that looks like it hasn't been used in decades (but still marked by a sign warning people not to stop or loiter on it) winds through it: the factories and warehouses on one side, the worn, sometimes shabby, tenements and small houses occupied, it seems, by families who have been there longer than the factories and warehouses, on the other.
Whatever outsiders see in a place is almost never seen by those who have always lived in it. So I wonder what they might have made of me, an outsider--the fact that I was on a bicycle was almost enough, by itself, to mark me as one--taking photos of their sunset. Or, more important, whether they see the unique light it casts on the tracks and everything it divides.
No comments:
Post a Comment