Unplugged

I’ve started not using my ipod when walking around the neighborhood, primarily to and from the subway, but it definitely goes on once in the subway. I can only take so much yammering in such close proximity (and days like the past two days where the heat for some inexplicable reason—also a problem when it rains or is cold—causes the subways to fuck up. This morning it sat half-way into the Bergen station, one from my starting station and one station away from where I needed to transfer, for what felt like 15 minutes [it was probably closer to ten] because someone had pulled an emergency break. To be positive, we were stuck inside, doors closed with air conditioning running [though they lowered the power after the first few minutes] while people on the platform could only sweat and glare at us through the windows. My point being, music was a helpful distraction. Even the guy singing Sam Cooke and asking for change gave up eventually and sulked against the subway doors in defeat like the rest of us).

What I’ve been struck by the most is how many Brooklyn accents I hear in Carroll Gardens, from both young and old. It’s not dying out. It’s not all school district-obsessed brunchers with clear recycling bags full of flattened Amy’s frozen food boxes on the sidewalks.

Tonight I was treated to a beefy teen on his cell, “I’m getting off the phone now. You sound retahded.” Music to my ears.