Flushing, NY

Flushing, Queens, like the rest of the city, covered in black spots that used to be gum, chewed, chewed, chewed, chewed, chewed, chewed, and spit onto the sidewalk and dried up from pink to black. Flushing comprises about the center, north portion of Queens, pretty close the La Guardia Airport, and often you will see airplanes hovering close, close enough to remind you of terrorist attacks, debris, and buildings collapsing due to structural damage.

It is what the rest of New York purports to be, with its racially diverse area. Hispanics, Asians, and an assortment of brown people from eastern Europe, the Middle East, and the region around India. In a Walgreens, you will see a woman in a head-to-toe black burqa, a slit revealing only her eyes, pushing a cart, children accompanying her. I hold back from constructing jokes.

Men in their cylinder white caps.

Hispanics. The freaking high schoolers playing wiffleball in the middle of a street occupied on both sides by parked cars. Once, a car almost ran over their ball.

(Microsoft Works Word Processor fails to register ‘wiffleball’ or ‘whiffleball’ as real words)

Lots and lots of Asians, recent immigrants, and you will know their territory by the language of the billboards, and storefronts. You will also know by how 99% of the sidewalk is Asian. They own Main Street.

A KKK member’s worst nightmare.

Very few white people. Black people, here and there.

There is one man. Wiry, about my height, age 50ish, yet to become plagued by grey hairs. You will often see him somewhere near the Main Street Station for the 7 train, or down Kissena avenue. He wears sunglasses, even at 10 o’clock in the evening, as he sits in a door step for a pet shop. Walks with a stylish cane, walks in this wiggly strut I find my writing too poor to convey. His fingerless black gloves. Imagine the very best and worst of 80s fashion, with jackets rolled up past the elbow. In red one day, black the next, then white, then violet. He often sits on the bench by the escalators leading out of the subway station.

(In other news, Cold Case is a show with badly written dialogue. “Rabble-rouser!”)

You will know Flushing by the Library, shiny, gray, massive, and half encased by glass. They will not be throwing stones from there any time soon.

You will know Flushing by the appearance of cards in a patriotic blue promoting Peter Koo for state Senate.

You will also know Flushing by the fact that it shares a name with the only action that a toilet does.

By the way, it’s such a shame that toilet businessman Thomas Crapper had to be remembered the way he was.

We haven’t had a president who sported facial hair since Taft.

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Random status lines.

Alberto Luperon…

…is running for the presidency of your heart.

…is unconstitutional.

…likes polluting your news feed.

…feels like orange juice. As in he would like to drink some.

…feels like steak. As in he feels seasoned, cooked on a stove top, and eaten with a fork and knife.

…is for interracial couplings, because without them, he wouldn’t exist.

…thinks Stephen Colbert is a national treasure.

…just found out Colbert’s middle name is Tyrone.

…thinks Tyrone is just about the best name to give your kid.

…is dangerously self-important.

…is is is is is is is is is is is is…

…is pretty sure 2000 feels like a long time ago.