This long-abandoned house has become considerably more decrepit-looking since the Googlemobile last passed by in 2009.
Unlike some of its brethren, this Curbside Haiku sign has a QR code that's within reach of the general public. The corresponding haiku reads:
Aggressive driver.
Aggressive pedestrian.
Two crash test dummies.
This work of "blobmeister" architecture was built atop the Art Deco edifice of the former Knickerbocker Laundry. The surrounding neighborhood is largely devoted to industry, large-scale retail, and auto sales, as this aerial photo shows, but the church's website paints a somewhat more verdant (and geographically reversed) portrait of the area.
Adjacent to the Korean megachurch, this yard is where lampposts await their time to shine. (You can get a better sense of the place from this aerial photo.)
Growing on that same fence, these still-red blackberries never have a chance to ripen before getting picked by this gloved gentleman, who said he makes some kind of drink out of them.
Pushkar approaches the finish line of the Self-Transcendence 3100 Mile Race.
Pushkar is the fourth runner to complete the race this year, and the crowd is no less enthusiastic than it was when Grahak first crossed the finish line five days ago.
This is how Arpan was freeing his mind from the rigors of the race today.
Ashrita is training for a world's-tallest-pogo-stick record. He has to perform 30 consecutive bounces to qualify.
After 48 consecutive days of running — with every fiber of his being dedicated to this race — Pranjal reached 3100 miles yesterday. Today: photography!
As I passed by this woman's house, I asked her if that was Thai basil growing in her garden. She nodded yes, pantomimed an eating gesture, and pointed at me. I thought she just wanted me to taste it, so I picked off a leaf and popped it in my mouth. Apparently she meant for me to take more than that, though, because she came over to the garden and began pulling off stalk after stalk and shoving them into my hands; I already have a generous bundle here, and you can see she's still going back for more.
It was quite tasty, but I wasn't sure what to do with that much Thai basil. I ended up giving half of it to an Indian guy who called out to me as I walked past his house: "Hey, what's that in your hand?" I told him and offered him some; he smelled it and accepted nonchalantly, as if he regularly acquires surplus produce from strangers strolling by on the sidewalk.
I still had the other half in my hand when I got back to the racecourse at the end of the day, so I gave it to the chefs to use in the runners' meals. I like the idea of them being fed by the same neighborhood that consumes them.
This is the 5,648th time this fence has seen Atmavir pass by — bouncy ball in hand — since the race began back on Father's Day.
This year's cicadas* must be approaching the end of their life span. I've seen several carcasses lying on the sidewalk over the last week or so.
* These are annual cicadas, not the synced-up periodical ones with the mysterious prime-number life cycles.
Damn! Must be a lot of Islanders fans in this neighborhood.
