The Domino sugar refinery has been on the East River for more than a century. Part of the plant is now a landmark, but the windows in this view will be demolished. (Photo: Nathan Kensinger)
(Excerpt from article, by Andy Newman) Beyond the station gates, a priest dreams of a vineyard. A car bursts into flame. An ancient sign in a boarded-up window opposite the platform reads “Wrestling Weight.” A stuffed bear mans a betting window in a struggling OTB parlor. The dead lie in rows uncounted, and the living mourn and wait and work and love and strum guitars on the front stoop, annoying the neighbors.
There are 24 stops on the New York City subway system past which you can ride no farther. For those who get off somewhere else — almost everyone — the end is just a sign on the train. New Lots: wonder what that’s like. Dyre Avenue? Sounds kind of grim. Middle Village — what is that, a jousting park? As it turns out, the end of the line, like most ends, is a place of abiding mystery.
A companion in the hands of Rescue Ink member Desi Calderon. Photo by Librado Romero/The New York Times
1 comment:
i want that cat!
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