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Category Archive for 'Cobble Hill'

Yugoslav Steward knocks on my door, says “You stay on the ship? Okay?” and goes off into Brooklyn to get drunk with the crew— Alyce and I are waking up, at one A.M., arm in arm in a dreadsome ship, agh— Only one watchman alone on the walk— Everybody drinking in bars of New York. […]

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“What Richard Abneg had carried forward, always, anyhow, was a certain sense of his own crucial place in the island’s life. He’d never copped out. And the beard, that too was uncompromised, continuous. He grew it when he was fifteen and reading Howard Zinn and Charles Bukowski and Emmett Grogan. I soaked up Harriet’s description […]

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As soon as they got in the door the guy grabbed her ass. Goddamnit, cant youwait, pushing him away. She staggered and leaned against the wall, the guy leaning over her kissing her neck as she yanked open a closet door looking for a bottle, then slammed it shut when no bottle could be found. […]

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Or, Memoirs of a Shy Nornographer And poor old Homer blind, blind as a bat Ear, ear for the sea-surge, murmur of old-men’s voices: “Let her go back to the ships, Back among Grecian faces, lest evil come on our own Evil and further evil, and a curse cursed upon our children Moves, yes, she […]

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(Or, The Education, & Dinner, of Caz Dolowicz) Street Dude: What you doing on our turf, punk? Caz Dolowicz: I got a rainbow for Smokey. Dude: Give it to me. Caz: You Smokey, man? Dude: Gimme it! Caz: If you ain’t Smokey, it’s not your motherfucking rainbow. Dude: Motherfucker I said gimme the rainbow. Caz: […]

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People ask Caz, you old, what’s really Brooklyn? Usually I tell ‘em to get out of my grill and see for themselves. Brooklyn is not like most people say. So-called “Cobble Hill” and Canarsie? The twain rarely meet, people, not really. Happily, I’ve gotten around some since I popped out Ma Dolowicz’s Sands Street boarding […]

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Speaking of Red Hook Raiders*, there was some unusual activity in the neighborhood of Pioneer Park this Friday Night, which isn’t to say unique just… unusual. With the exception of our respected colleague and recent interviewee Lost City Brooks,  WWIB has had just about zero use for any of the Red Hook or related blogs […]

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With a headline nod to Jesus Colon, the pioneering Puerto Rican journalist (check out  A Puerto Rican In New York if not familar with his work), and hearty mondongo thanks to reader Glenmore Snediker for the photos (“taken somewhere in East New York,” he says), WWIB rouses itself this morning with strong coffee and the […]

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The subway station at Smith Street had grown grayer than he last remembered it, a few more tiles had fallen off the walls, and some form of municipal idiocy had caused stylized kitten’s faces to be painted on the swinging doors of the trash receptacles, but otherwise the place was the same as always. You […]

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Midnight. Gowanus was silent. Millions of eyes had closed. Most of the lights had gone out. Now that the others were resting it was time for Caz Dolowicz to work. Now that the others were dreaming it was time for him to wake. Now that the day was ended for the rest of Brooklyn his […]

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