CHAPTER THREE
1999- Bed Stuy
Like I said earlier, my stint in Hartford lasted 4 years. I guess it was my version of going away to college. The school of hard knocks and all that corny shit. Brooklyn was meant to be my arrival and Bed Stuy my new home base.
I was lucky enough to slide into town right before landlords caught on to the fact that they could triple their rent prices without missing a beat. The locals might clutch their pearls at the jump, but out of towners starting to flood the area didn’t even bat so much as an eyelash. And yes, I was one of those out of towners. But at the time, I thought there was no way I could destroy the existing ecosystem. I honestly felt I was part of that ecosystem.
I lucked up on a cute, little one bedroom on the top floor of a brownstone on Halsey between Tompkins and Throop. It was tiny but it was mine and only mine, and I loved it. My absentee landlord was some Armenian guy who owned several run-down buildings scattered between my block and Eastern Parkway. He lived in Jersey City and did not give a fuck what went on in my crib as long as I paid my rent on time and didn’t burn the place down. That systemic negligence worked in my favor, for a while at least.
I looooooooooooooooved Bed Stuy.
Block parties, fried fish joints, family-owned brownstones and fiends, fiends, fiends.
My new block was right in the mix.
Dead center.
