Hunting this morning for some documents that have been eluding me (wish I could trust Google enough to let 'em onto my desktop) I found an old poem from the summer of 2002 that reminded me how much... well, how much more like Williamsburg Inwood is becoming. Still. I like it up there. A lot of trees, a little highway noise, not much English in the air.
Cliff Notes version of the poem: Everybody changes, has a past and an imagination.
Jordan - #