out by the lighthouse on the tip of roosevelt island i see a crab claw on the ground its colors were shell cream, a deep red, a browny green and a verbal blue. gulls wing by or sit on the concrete barrier watching ruffled by the wind. it�s cold enough on the east river i�ve pulled up both my hoods to protect my ears. i have to carry my hat if it weren't for the feather i could crush my hat up in my bag right across from here (is manhattan) there is a park on the upper east side. below it is the doubledecker east side highway. boats that power through this confluence dwarf doubbledecker highways and any building i�ve ever called home. a tanker, scratched, scarred, rusted, discolored, moves faster than you�d think a building could withtout falling down. the water here at the top of the island is a chaotic flow that does terrifying things.
why i am a nomad: