My sick day has come to an end. I will now attempt to ride the orange bike (with no wheels) up to where Manhattan Avenue meets Greenpoint to meet a one Tobyjoe. And you might call this said point “The Pollack Triangle” as it is a special place where if you hang out too long you might never be seen again. I once had a guy who worked for the local car service say,
You’re at THAT corner? I don’t normally pick people up from that corner. But since you’re a girl and it’s late, I will.
Don’t get me wrong, I have nothing against my very own heritage, however these polish puppies stand around drinking the harshest of liquor (mad dog, 20/20 style). They tell jail tales, stories about shitting, they whoop, they holler, they hoot, they tell you you have the finest two asses that side of the east river. They say so through their slobbery lips and their bloated drunk eyes. And they say other things I can’t decipher. It’s not really dangerous, just sort of run down and chaotic. They do not play by the rules. I’m not even sure they know them anymore.