On a familiar route, for something new and maybe grand.
I look up!
The justice side of Dumbo.
547 of what looked like a designed pretzel.
Contorted and memorialized.
Neon bents and curves to straightly climb up, at the exchange place.
They lined up to follow the sure signs of the days of spring.
The old house stood admirably still despite the seductive invitation for the love dance from the trees around.
To be unrolled. To be unfurled. Below the waffle without any speckled of syrup.
The old gate in the park. There still trace of glory in the touch of the facade. Admirable how proud it’s still.
Junior, tell me about the bar.
Beautiful Brooklyn Day.
Where Yayoi and Young were. I told Marta while she drunk a free glass of water.