(The photo above is in no way connected with the silly story below. It's a failed attempt to capture a great sunset on Monday that inadvertently acquired some quasi-interesting light streaking in the foreground. Enjoy!)
Sitting at the Franklin Park Reading Series the other night, a friend remarked that Franklin Park was one of the only establishments in the area that consistently pulls people in from all over Brooklyn, and occasionally even from that little island across the East River. This led me to tell a story about running into a very drunk reveler one evening last fall while I walked up Franklin. She was shouting into her iPhone about being lost, and as the lady and I approached, she whirled around and asked with furious impatience "Where the hell is this beer garden?" We started to tell her to head back up the street, but she insisted "I know it's on St. Marks! They said St. Marks!" She had clearly decided we were not going to be of use, and stormed off towards the abandoned section of the old Jewish Hospital before we could tell her that she had the wrong apostle.
My companion offered this amusing argument: she really should have known it was St. Johns, not St. Marks, because (riffing on his earlier theme of FP being a draw for non-locals) the gospel of John is the one written for the gentiles. And that, my friends, is your deep thought for the night.
Unrelated - In keeping with the church theme, I enjoyed this story about a ambitious pastor making creative use of a Greenpoint church over the weekend. Also, the Avenue continues to draw attention from local reporters--here's the latest report, which was linked by a poster here.
Lamenting the L Shutdown—in Polish
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