(August 14)
I converted all the coffee grinds in my freezer into cold-brewed iced coffee
Prior to infinity, it said July 30. It is now September 15 and it’s not done yet.
They have arrived and are hiding among us in Williamsburg.
I feel like this ceiling
Decay.
Above and to the right.
I saw him coming.
(August 14) And finally… the footbridge.
The approach
Amtrak rolls like that here.
Looking ahead
The stuff bridges are made of
This bridge crosses just about everything except the water.
Had it been further back, it would have crossed that as well.
Looking back
And down the other side. I found these steps particularly difficult to climb because of their layout.
Nobody expects robots in the Bronx.
The outside of the Hunts Point Ave. 6 Station.
They should have spent more money on the inside of the station instead of the outside.
Who you callin a hoe?
(August 14) Finally approaching the footbridge, artwork caught my eye. I diverted, to discover the Bronx Charter School for the Arts.
It’s not the hole in his chest, or his extracted heart that causes his anguish. It’s the sign on his head.
Keep off the grass you lousy kids!
No parking either!
(August 14) A couple of weeks ago, I’d figured to save time by walking to my customer one stop away on the local 6 train from the express 6 I’d gotten off of at Hunt’s Point Ave. It turned out to be a terrible mistake from that perspective, but I decided to go back with my camera, which I strangely hadn’t brought with me on the previous occasion.
You can see the footbridge, which turned out to be the focus of the traveling I needed to do.
No, the obelisk isn’t peeing, it’s a fountain.
Walking back toward the footbridge, I passed over the Bronx River on another bridge.
There’s several views here I don’t get from where I usually cross this river.
You can see the sky reflecting off the water.
Down in the water, there were thousands of fish.
This was the small blob.
That’s not an oil slick, that’s a lot of fish down there.
Still in use from the looks of it.
This one is a serious view-buster
Wherever there’s train tracks, there will be tagging, which pre-dates the Intertubes.
Viza informs me these are Amtrak’s tracks.
The rest of July.
Old skewl truck in Port Jefferson.
He’s usually out there playing when I walk by in the daylight.
The sign changed again.
I am not a fan even.
These mimosas have yet to fall to the disease wiping them out.
They remind me of my maternal grandparents
Little did they know, they were about to move again.
