She began sleeping in a subway tunnel after transit authorities made her leave her spot in the Herald Square station corridor on 34th Street, dragging her by her feet when she refused to stand up from her mat. He used to be a gang member in the Bronx. A train rushes by, almost silent with its unbearably bright lights, the air swelling around me as the cars dash past. I hurt a lot of people. She never sent it. This period is gone. At least she is with family. This is the final byproduct of the city. The food bowls left at her door for the forty-nine cats she feeds. He is bipolar and suffers from major substance dependence. Sleeping in the tunnel is an alien experience, but the sight of rain falling down the ventilation grates and streaking the chiaroscuro light is worth it alone, definite proof that poetry can endure anywhere. The smell down here is the one of brake dust and mold.
Garbage piles up in the courtyard for rodents to feed on. Written in an abandoned crew room of the F subway line, these words were the reason I ventured into the tunnels in the first place, looking for the invisible, guided by local dwellers along the years to seek foundations of humanity in the foundations of the city. I deal with what I have. The place is crammed full. Their eyes have adapted to the constant night that cloaks them from the topside world. We both eat in silence. By the late s, he was sleeping in the Riverside Park tunnel. Few risked getting down into the tunnel. He used to be a gang member in the Bronx. Jessica was then diagnosed with schizoaffective disorder and admitted to transitional housing in Brooklyn. The food bowls left at her door for the forty-nine cats she feeds. I hear him talk to himself as I go away from the entrance and from the white sky. All the stories I had read about the Mole People before descending myself had two things in common. I called my sister and begged her to take care of Alyssa until I found a place of my own. She was sixteen when she got pregnant with her daughter Alyssa. That they spoke their own language. Isaac was at the very center of the Mole People legend. Her stint in the Marines. Sane immediately sprayed the quote on the wall. He rents an apartment from a friend when his kid comes to visit, a clean studio in a gray Washington Heights building. Jon must have passed out drunk, now, somewhere behind me. We dared to be ourselves. However, the book was promptly criticized for its inconsistencies. He was a furniture salesman. One day, three men asked Isaac for a toll as he came by the th Street entrance to the tunnel. The metallic vibration of a dragged chain? Like many of the people interviewed for this article, he did not want to give his full name.
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