Greenpoint
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Skidmark Row
Last Sunday I rooked my husband into accompanying me as I went on another (albeit smallish) fact-finding mission*. Our route was as follows.
West Street has never failed to deliver (large quantities of dog shit) before and this occasion proved to be no different. Here are a few of my favorite shits.
65 Green Street
SHIT Tac Toe! I won! I won!
79 Green Street
This is just plain scary. And last but not least, my personal favorite from…
150 West Street!
It was a very fruitful trip— and the dog shit I found was only the tip of the proverbial iceberg, if you know what I mean.
When I reached Kent Street I noticed yet another group of older buildings that seemed to be awaiting a date with the wrecking ball. I went in for a closer look. And when I did, I found this. I walked another 5-6 feet and found these.
It would appear that had stumbled upon a trail, a Skidmark Row if you will, of grannie panties that spanned 59 Kent Street. Fascinating.
So if any of you:
- woke up last Sunday morning (after several rousing trysts at Mary D’s the night before) and found yourself wondering “Gee, where’s my underwear?”
- have fantasies involving Estelle Getty, The Golden Girls, getting golden showers from golden girls— or all of the above
- find the “I’ve fallen and can’t get up” lady strangely arousing
- have a thing for underwear resembling Depends undergarments
today’s your lucky day! Go on down to Kent Street (I have indicated the location on the above map with a red dot) and dig in. And when you’re done, why not swing by Brooklyn Bridge Marriott tomorrow afternoon for this?
Happy hunting!
Miss Heather
*After what transpired earlier that day, I felt my husband owed it to me.
I woke up on Sunday about 30 minutes after my husband. I got out of bed, put on my pajama bottoms (which were exactly where I had left them the night before: at the foot of the bed) and wandered into the kitchen. After I had managed to plow through two cups of coffee, my husband charged into the living room babbling “You aren’t wearing the striped pants, are you?”
“Striped pants?” I thought to myself.
Husband: Yeah, the ones you are wearing. I found those wadded up in the cat box this morning.
I must had worn these soiled ‘striped pants’ for at least 20 minutes before my husband saw fit to notice and/or tell me. I am still trying to figure out why the hell he didn’t simply put them in the dirty laundry hamper instead of putting them back on the floor. Gross.
Comments
One Comment on Skidmark Row
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Rebecca11222 on
Thu, 15th Feb 2007 2:38 pm
My first week in Greenpoint, I made the mistake of putting my houseplants outside one afternoon in order to get a nice dose of sun. Someone stole them.
My first month in Greenpoint, I made the mistake of hanging laundry outside in order to dry.
Someone stole it.
You have given me hope that my gardenias, violets, my husband’s ripped-up jeans, and my tropical fish bathmat are still alive and being held against their will on Kent.
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