Friday, September 23, 2011

I Live in a Crack Den

I live in a gorgeous, slightly crooked old brownstone in North Brooklyn, and I got into a discussion about the building with my landlord the other day.

They've only owned it for about two years. The woman they bought it from had lived there for THIRTY. Apparently, when she bought the building, it was in bad shape: forclosure, for one thing. And a crack den, secondly.

How did she know it was a crack den? There were little cubicle-style cubbie holes built on the first level, all painted black and littered with odds and ends. My landlord said some of their wood trim (like the bannister) has cuts all over it, as though someone attacked it with knives or needles.

Slightly unrelated, but what is now my bathroom had so much shit around the tub, they originally thought it was an in-ground. When all the tiles and wood was cleared away, the woman discovered a gorgeous original clawfoot hiding underneath. (Bad picture here, to semi explain.)


The more you know, huh?

This song is good.

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