I decided to move to Brooklyn, because I felt that 'real' people lived in Brooklyn. I wanted a neighborhood, a community. So I found an apartment that was a decent size and that had new appliances. I never would have been able to afford it had it been in Manhattan. Unfortunately it's in the ghetto. I am no stranger to the ghetto. For the first seven years of my life I lived in Washington Heights, which at the time was one of the most violent crack addled neighborhoods in New York. My grandparents still live there, and everytime I go visit them I notice how many things have changed. The lot where they used to strip down stolen cars is now full of minivans. There are restaurants and bars, and people are on the streets after dark. Real estate prices haven't risen drastically yet, and maybe that's why the gentrification has been "gentle" so far. None of the long time residents seem to have a problem with the new residents.
In Bushwick things are different. There's abandoned buildings and garbage on the streets. Supposedly there are hookers in one of the abandoned buildings on Broadway, although I've never seen them. But there is a shanty town, shacks made of corrugated metal and blue tarp, around the corner. At night rats race between the lot and the garbage dumped on the sidewalk. Last week when I was walking home from the store, a crackhead asked me for change. When I noticed the white film around the lower half of her face and her mottled skin, I realized who she was. It wasn't scary; she called me pretty lady and just walked away when I said I didn't have anything. That's the thing with Bushwick. It's not that dangerous; it's just inconvenient and uncomfortable. We're surrounded by the signs of the growing chasm between the haves and have nots, and everybody feels it. The people in my building don't generally shop in the neighborhood. There aren't any cafes, the supermarket doesn't stock artisanal cheeses and there's no cute little clothing stores. That's where the resentment in the neighborhood comes from. We live here, but we don't invest in the neighborhood.
This week we got Fresh Direct. They put up posters by the mailboxes announcing that the perseverence of one of our neighbors had brought us delivery of montauk bay lobster and espresso smores. From the wording, it seems like its only our building getting delivery. The reaction, going by the comments scrawled on the poster, is mixed. The positive messages are simple: thanks and you rock, but the negative messages are a little more provacative including a nomination to the honky hall of fame and a question as to whether the building can be anymore yuppified. Honkies? Yuppies? Bitch, please. As for me, well my first order is coming on Friday.