Writing


Bursting with speed, you race out of the house. Knowing that you’re already running late, you sprint around aimlessly, while trying to map out the quickest way to get to the destination. Considering a cab, you remember the driving rain that’s soaking you and deduce that it would be impossible to find one. Option two would be the bus arriving across the street, but that would only take you five blocks away from where you need to be, plus you realize forgot your metro card. The rain freezing you, it is decided that the Subway is the only other way. Racing down the stairs and to the metro card machine, you see the “broken, do not use” sign posted. Alternatively, you turn to the machine beside it, only to discover that you’re out of bills, you resort to searching for any coins you can find. While doing so, a person behind you asks to ” quickly go ahead of you?”. You reply: “I really have to rush”. They say in a calloused tone that “everyone has places to be”, but you just clutch the bare minimum needed for a round trip pass, collect your card and race to your platform. Praying that your train is still there, you quickly run down more stairs, only to hear the loud screeches of the last subway car drain into the dark tunnel. Soaked and disappointed, you decide to check your cell phone messages, only to see that your event was cancelled twenty minutes ago.

By James Wallace-Lee

New Yorkers” (A haiku)

“Why are New Yorkers

so rude? They won’t talk to me!”

Do you want them to?

The Subway” (A Limerick)

The MTA sells you a card

for two dollars, it’s really not hard

It’ll take you quite far

in a big subway car

but the trip just might leave you scarred.

My New York” (A Haiku)

My New York is not

like Times Square. There’s grass and trees

But there’s no people.

Vegan Hipsters” (A Limerick)

You’re walking down a hipster street

and you’re looking for something to eat

“These vegans!” you groan,

“They won’t leave me alone

when all I want is red meat”

The Stuyvesant town green market

When one must shop for food, often like instinct the first word that pops into your head is supermarket. Well sometimes instincts aren’t correct. This proves itself at the Stuyvesant town green market. Sure, it may be inconvenient for some, but it’s always worth the trip. In the middle of Stuyvesant town there is a huge oval where the market takes place, and by 9:00 am you can be searching through delicious cheeses, scrumptious fruits or delectable vegitables. 

The selection of the market is unbeatable, you can find just about any sort of naturally grown food there with remarkable variety. All of the food is locally grown, which is very good for the environment, and nearly everything is organic. And while at the supermarket food could have been preserved for however long, you cannot compare to the taste of fresh from the field where produce is grown. The crowd is never, well its never crowded, and the people selling the food are very kind. Not only does shopping at the green market at Sty town boast its ecological and taste advantages over the supermarket, but food also comes at extremely reasonable prices. The view of Stuyvesant town is just as natural as its market, providing asthetic pleasure to accompany the already wonderful experience. So stop by if you want great produce at low costs with kind people and a nice view, and it’s beneficial to the environment. In shorter terms, stop by.

A Review/Rant by James Wallace-Lee

 

The Best Place to see Expensive Food Burned

Di Fara’s Pizza

1424 Ave. J, Brooklyn, NY 11230 at E. 15th St

 

Pizza does not seem hard to make. It seems that all you have to do is make some dough, flatten it, put toppings on, and put it in the oven. But for Dom, the old Italian fart who seems to have been running Di Fara’s since the invention of fire, thinks the process isn’t that easy.

My family walked into the place one Sunday night after hearing that it was the best pizza in Brooklyn. So, we drove out to the middle of nowhere, only to find that the fabled pizza place was a little brick room with two tables and a wall of reviews that we would later see as very strangely positive. There was no place to sit; we had to wait fifteen minutes just to order because the crowd of was so large.

But for those as unfortunate as us to stop by there, the horror goes on. The pizza pies are $24 or a whopping $4 a slice! Ordering is just as terrible; the man who takes the orders has no particular method of arranging them and makes no effort to identify which people in the crowd had ordered which pizza. In our case, the wait was another hour after we ordered, during which we saw the man burn and throw away at least four pies. Watching him was a depressing and angering experience for me, because it seemed he put so much care into each pizza, but then burned every one! We pushed back up to the table about then, and when we asked the guy there, he said we were still six pies behind. We walked out of the restaurant after an hour and a half, feeling annoyed and hungry.

                Later that week, my mom brought home a pie. I had a slice, and saw why it was considered to be the best pizza in Brooklyn: it’s smothered in olive oil and basil, creating one of the most wonderful tastes. But even so, don’t try waiting there; you’ll want to punch someone on your way out.

The pizza tastes great, but it’s only for people who have the time, patience, and money to get through the agonizing process of getting a pizza.

Rain at Jay Street

            The rain cascades into the subway station, puddling, dripping, filling, and invading the edges between commuters’ shoes.  He trudges, boots soaked, towards the front of the train, where his chances of getting a seat are higher. Every station he exits on the platform and moves forward a car, rather than risking the wet metal walkway between cars. He glances at the advertisements of each passing car- the wrestlers with copyright names, the online colleges, and the “Energy Saving Tips.” Tip #67- Seal your windows with our QuickSeal™ Technology! Slipping on the wet floor, covered in coffee, water and piss, he knocks into a pole. An old Jewish man, adjusting his yarmulke, moves his seat to make room for the disgruntled passenger. Multiple squeakings of shoes ensue. He sits, closes his eyes, and tunes his ears away.

Trying to make it to school on time, you urge your taxi driver to go faster over the 59th street bridge. Once you get over the bridge your eyes are glued to only one place, the digital clock on the small touch screen TV. Then you hit traffic. You peer out from your trance to find the source of this inconvenience; you find the issue quickly, the traffic enforcement officers. You sigh as they separate cars from their paths for no definite reason. Allowing cars to come off of the FDR before they let you on slowing down traffic more than they are speeding it up. You moan only twelve more minutes before eight twenty. If you don’t get on the FDR soon you won’t make it. You curse the traffic enforcement for whatever reason you can, looking for someone to blame for your misfortune. You glare as you pass them the cruel rulers of your fate completely unaware of the importance of your punctuality. If you don’t make it you’ll be stuck after school for an hour. That can’t happen. You need to catch your bus after school. You have to make it. You get to your turn, you have ten minutes, with some luck you’ll make it.

You glance at your watch. You’re standing in line at the deli. You are anxious. You’re car is just around the corner, out of sight. You had no quarters left so you parked it on someone’s left over time. Bouncing up and down in your line, you silently beg for the Asian man behind the counter to hurry up. He pauses as he tries to ring up the item of the man three customers in front of you. His arm coming down again and again attempting to help his customer give him money, but each time, also a second closer to a ticket for you. Finally, the man second to the counter yells we haven’t got all day and the customer in front of the register goes to get another of the same item. This is yet another minute in your battle to stay sane as forces you cannot control dictate whether or not you get a sixty five dollar fee. You glance at your watch and you tell yourself you still have a few minutes. It’s finally your turn you quickly pay for your breakfast and sprint out of the deli and around the corner to your car only to see a cop start giving a ticket.  

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