Ellen the neighborhood isn’t what you think. Nothing is. But we have to address our memories. You see, Ellen, when we came in here last April we noticed things. We both did but let’s focus on what you noticed or what you told me you did: a pastry shop that had beautiful cakes in the window, a local theater complex with a mural on the building’s side that transfixed you for its similarity to Joseph Stella’s Brooklyn Bridge. Also when we went to the taco stand down the street, that Asaf Avidan song you like, the only one I know, was playing and you turned to me and just said “love.” I’m not saying that sold me on the place, but it didn’t hurt. We’ve been here six months now and there have been significant alterations to what was previously believed. The theater complex is closed, mural painted over. The taco place disappoints with music choice as often as it satisfied. The pastry shop was never as billed. The daughter of the owner was filming a movie so she put the cakes in the window. They deal, as it turns out, primarily in stale crossaints and decent coffee. A woman who works there treats you shabbily probably because she had a little crush on you at first and was unhappy to see me when I showed up to meet you. You have joked with me that you are planning on leaving me for her. Don’t joke. Why did we ever leave the other place? It wasn’t perfect but it was the same exact distance from perfect as this place, with the benefit of being…what’s the word?….ours.
©2021 Ben Greenman/Stupid Ideas
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