I was, of course, one of the new people who had nothing to do with the maritime history of Brooklyn, yet today that does not stop me from shuddering at the thought of “new people”. Red Hook has been my home for two years now. I know that does not carry the weight of a lifetime or even a decade. Two years in the history of a New York neighbourhood is nothing. I have not lived here long enough to learn the history of each warehouse and rattle off their names like the old-timers can. I still get lost, especially at that corner of Van Brunt where the Battery Park Tunnel empties itself out and the Brooklyn-Queens expresswaymerges with the rest of the world. But over two eventful years, my knowledge of myself has become entangled with the geography of Red Hook.
In: Essay, Nonfiction, The Guardian •