a fleeting first visit to NYC's most populous borough. arrived in a hurry, yellowcabwise, over the Brooklyn Bridge, having quick-schlepped on foot and into a biting wind all the way from our east midtown Manhattan hotel to the seaport district trattoria where I'd eaten very good saltimbocca the night before. back there because I'd left my bastard debit card on the table when stumbling, exhausted, towards a taxi and bed. back there on foot because the lad and I were both up for covering all that distance pedestrian-style and thereby getting a better appreciation for the shifting looks of the neighbourhoods. all very good and the little guy didn't complain once. but it left it a bit tight, perhaps, to make it from the trattoria to the Barclay's Center in time for the start of our first ever in-the-flesh NBA game, a dead rubber affair between two weaker teams, the hometown NETS and the visiting PELICANS. hence the taxi indulgence. worth it because the trip over the bridge is big on visual impact. the home team duly trounced and the our new NBA experience thusly digested, we mooched briefly on the streets of Brooklyn, observing the strata of established grittiness and more recently overlaid gentrification around Atlantic Avenue and environs. normally I would have photographed the heck out of everything. but not this time, alas, because it was very cold and I was in charge of a young fellow whose patience was wearing a little thin as we waited for our dinner companions to arrive from Manhattan ahead of the day-ending meat feast at a barn full of BBQ. tearing into burger flesh and dripping garnishes all over the place, I channelled scary Frank Booth with my beer choice: "Heineken?! Fuck that shit!" etc.
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