Clinton Hill

I moved to Brooklyn. I packed a little backpack and got on a bus at MetroTech, I didn't know the streets but they felt old, like they knew me. Climbed the stairs and found the key hidden in the compost (not in the compost, under the compost). The dog is blind, but she hears you come in and retreats to a corner to sulk. You are not who she hoped you would be.

I can commiserate.

Empty the wine bottle slowly and your ego quickly. Uselessness looks the same on both sides of the East River. I have to tell the dog when to step up and down curbs. The hasidic kids laugh, but it's mostly summer and freedom bubbling to the surface.

Everything looks different.

It feels exactly the same.