Greenpoint, I Love You and You’re Not Bringing Me Down

When Agatha and I told you we were leaving, your reaction was blank and typically stoic. You straightened your spine, smoothed your shores, looked at us straight in the eye and said, “You’ll return. Mark my words, you’ll return.”

As we drove away in Wedgie (our rusted-out 1998 Ford Explorer), muffler hanging by a thread, we thought we saw a tear, but maybe it was just the way the sun was hitting that slime that sometimes surfaces on the East River.

That was eleven months ago (almost an eternity!). Man, do we rue the day. From the moment we entered our kitchen in Red Hook, we began to miss your pierogies, two-dollar PBRs, Mexican/Polish bodegas, Paulie’s pizzas, your ferry. In a weird way, we even missed Newtown Creek.

But we have news, Greenpoint: your prodigal daughters are returning!

Will you accept us again? We hope that you will and that you’ll love your wayward children even more than before because we have, like, a ten-year lease.

See you in May.

Love,