![](https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8Zl8EL8x0DkZBOZNLWFVWMSV_NzYQK64KipZwy2O6KPYBh6zCuZG_mLUePXBd61uAnNEn68rVprCEaojNkbBuVqW9gxsiBDaa2O9E4pD1BDBIRV85cEkRzHFegcE9JymjXyECs2mrIqQ/s320/hands+across+water.jpeg)
I don't think this is what Sir McCarthney was thinking of in his song but every time I heard that song I saw the East River.
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.