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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required remember these rich kids who moved from downtown Manhattan, after the towers fell, out into the uncharted territories of Bushwick & those regions of Brooklyn, which had once been lined with 3 story houses (or fewer) & whose skyline one could see over, when stores, music venues & cheeseball clubs were closer to the exception than the rule, when there were genuine poor people who dressed the way that they could afford, when these mungo hipsters didn’t plague the land like the rats that come squealing out from beneath the garbage bags piled up outside their loft buildings, remade factories, which now serve as high income palaces with the guise of low income & the sprawl of fake-poor in the land of the cool. these hipsters would bump from thrift store to thrift store, shopping with mommy & daddy’s money (now safe from the downtown “terrorist threats”) in order to look like they were straight from the 1970’s, like corduroy everything was somehow a part of the 21st century, like sideburns were the way of the future--- parading with pocketbooks full of cash which would allow them to frequent the sushi bars that had sprung up or pop from expensive café to expensive café without a second thought about the same exact dream that they all had followed, from the white picket fences in the suburbs of bumble**** wherever, to transplant themselves into the dumpster diving “soul” searching snot nosed brats that lit the fuse for gentrification all over what used to be Brooklyn.
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