A My Private Coney project Flash non-fiction, brief moments and old memories of a city and mother's emotional and physical real estate disappearing at the speed of heartbreak.
Tuesday, December 17, 2013
When the elevator opened, Wallace trotted out.
But here's the thing about community. He knew who we were.
So when we said, "Come on, Wallace. Come into the elevator and we'll bring you home", he trotted right back in with us.
Each person I spoke to about buying Florence's apartment talked about the Quartchyard's community. Their friends lived in that building. Their kids knew each other. They wanted to live where they could raise a family. They wanted a home that wasn't just walls of bricks and bright computer screens.
They wanted what me and the Mariner got when the elevator door opened.
MY PRIVATE CONEY presents IT WAS HER NEW YORK, the short stories that accompany the work-in-progress video and photo collection of the same name (myprivateconey.com - media link - IT WAS HER NEW YORK). The stories and the media explore the tender rubble that holds both my mother, Florence's and New York's soul as one disappears into old age and the other into gentrification. All are real observations and/or experiences with very little tall-tale telling.
Except when it makes the story better.
Please visit myprivateconey.com for additional information and sample works.