There is something deeply sensual about my Brooklyn. There is something youthfully refreshing about how its streets embrace the borough’s wanderer-friendly semi-urban architecture; something ridiculously tender about the hues of the sunlight against its occasionally industrial walls. It might be the only place on earth that on a random morning jog will surprise you with a feeling of a complete and speechless awe without any particular reason. Just like the grandiosity of Rome, the delight of the treasures of Florence or the breathtaking colors of the Tuscan Sunsets and Sicilian Sunrises it will steal your heart. It will steal your heart just the same, yet differently; because it’s so much more homey, so much more pleasantly unattractive, so much more along the lines of the down-to-earth standards of a moderately demanding, modern, on-the-go city lover.
Minutes from the heart of THE Metropolis my most beloved ANTI-Metropolis.
You know you’ve got a permanent piece of my medium-sized Non-American heart.
If human beings could make love to the streets I would be your number one exclusive mistress.