This is Florence somewhere in Bushwick. She told me she could tell how their fortunes were diminishing by how bad the new home was. This move was one of the bigger steps down.
The trip from Trenton to Brooklyn was taken illegally in the front of the truck with the driver who, according to Florence, took pity on Gramma and her, two lone females on the border of destitute.
I know nothing of that apartment on Patchen Avenue, except that Florences flourished at Eramus High School, was neighbors with someone who knitted mittens used for shooting rabbits, and had someone mailed her a little letter so that she could have this special stamp for her collection.
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.