Behind the Scenes of: 

A BIRDHOUSE IN BROOKLYN

On the pavement at the intersection of Lexington and 97^th Street, Lucy saw her first De La Vega. A simple chalk drawing of a small fish hopping from its bowl, neatly labeled: Become your dream. The Upper East Side’s version of tagging seemed pretty tame compared with Williamsburg’s more brazen graffiti that grew along walls like a psychedelic rash. Further up the street was another signed aphorism: During peaceful moments watch for danger.

Lucy gauged her surroundings: downtown were streets of sober elegance defined by urbane brownstones and avenues of high-end retail; to the north, public housing—the projects—that marked Harlem. Across the avenue, the Burrito Deli abutting an open-air parking lot. Spanish Harlem.

Along 97^th Street from Park Avenue little American flags stuck into fallow planters on buildings pockmarked with age were similar to the snippets of patriotism that sprouted from Williamsburg windowsills immediately after 9/11. High rises reappeared on the south side of the street. Peaked shrubs behind chain-link fence topped with loops of menacing razor wire. To the north, railroad tracks shot out from undercover, running through Harlem like a scar.