the bastard's time on this island started with a bike crash on a damp February night in 2009.
which culminated in a surreal evening in the elmhurst hospital emergency room.
that was my last night as a queens resident.
in a hospital that had become more known for where inmates from riker's island go when someone stabs them with something they made in the machine shop.
this later turned into a whirlwind of baby preperation.
and making my summers with the boy work for myself, the boy, and the family in 340 square feet of alternative family fun.
we had some laughs.
and we had some times where it wasn't so goddam funny.
but we're getting towards the end of our time here on the rock.
and soon we'll begin our sojourn across the east river, back to the borough which is thorough.
and like my initial crossing into manhattan, the bastard finds his crossing back to the hunk of mud he was born on to be equally bittersweet.
so I've been popping off pictures.
sneaking off on secret food missions to sample fare I may not make the time for anymore.
and thinking hard on my brief time in this manhattan
'the city' as those who are old school call it.
nah kids, manhattan is just part of this fair Gotham and don't ever forget that as you old rusticos look over the east river towards the spires of the island.
know this, you kids from oklasota and wiscotucky as you pile into my city that we are five boroughs not a city surrounded by new yawkahs. it's a greater whole
and the bastard is gonna take pictures while he gets all nostalgic of walking these streets at night.
with his kids
with his wife
with a big assed whiskey on.
not necessary at the same time.
but nostalgic either way.