I’ve been to the South Bronx, exactly once, in 1991. In those days I used to walk all over the city, into areas that I wouldn’t go now. I was young, possibly a little naive (or possibly not) and figured that so long as I didn’t show fear, I’d be okay. I had this trick I borrowed from William Burroughs, of watching every person on the street at once out of the corner of my eyes. It worked because for three years I toured all over Brooklyn, up to Harlem, out to Newark and Jersey, walking through the worst hell holes in the city and nothing ever happened to me.
Until, of course it did. Just a few blocks from where I live now in fact. But that’s another story.
When I went there, the South Bronx was still pretty rough. Though nowhere near as empty as this video, I remember being amazed at the piles of rubble everywhere, the vacant lots. And the people. No white faces of course, except mine. Some of the toughest looking people I’ve ever seen in my life were in South Bronx, that sunny spring afternoon. I still remember two black kids who walked past me on the street. They glanced at me ever so slightly, probably wondering what the fuck I was doing there. They had these weird mask-like faces like their flesh was made of leather, and the cold, cold eyes. Not dead exactly, but void of empathy or warmth of any kind. The eyes of killers. I saw the same faces in Newark, and from time to time on the G train in Brooklyn.