i would not do well in a war zone. or riot. as in, if a war or riot were to break out and i were to have to get from point a to point b, i would fail (miserably).
i was to meet D in dumbo to see the brooklyn festival of lights. meet, we did. see, we saw. but survive? barely. (D survived just fine, by the way. by barely, i’m referring to yours truly).
i don’t have a pic to post alongside this entry. if ever i were to get stuck in a war or riot, there would be no pictures of the experience. you see where this is going.
the “war/riot” starts at the york street F train. as i step off the train and onto the platform, throngs of tourists approach out of nowhere. they’re apparently here to see the same lights. police buzz about, announcing that this train stop has reached maximum capacity. undeterred, the tourists keep pushing ahead.
finally emerging from the subway tunnel and into the night, i dash towards our meeting place. i run smack into what must be the center of this light festival. it is surreal. instead of pretty colored lights or lanterns draped around this part of town, i see crazy flashing lights and people screaming for more (of what, i don’t know). this is what a war or riot must feel like.
somehow, i make it to D.
“how in the world were you able to get here?” i ask. “oh, i didn’t have much trouble at all. it was quiet the way i came.” he says.