I like the view from the Pulaski Bridge.
No one could tell that the Newtown Creek was a major pollution site, especially with the sailboats tied up on the Queens side of that cursed inlet.
I coasted down the bridge and bicycled to the ferry landing on the East River.
The shore line was lipped by collapsed slabs of concrete.
People were fishing on the abandoned wharf to the north.
The Manhattan ferry was late.
I waited patiently in the sun.
After the ferry arrived I rode my bike to the ramp.
I paid a young girl $5 for the trip to Manhattan.
She seemed to like her job.
It was more pleasant than working on the subway.
The ferry cruised upstream to Long Island City past desolate lots of land.
The real estate boom would eat them up soon enough.
A verdant forest lined the river.
I expected wild animals lived there.
They were probably all feral cats and rabid dogs.
There was no sign of man.
Once trains ran to the river.
A ferry transported them to New Jersey.
Today the tracks lay rusting in the river.
The 14th Street power station dominated the southern vista.
Two minutes later I landed at 34th Street.
I bicycled north to 47th Street.
The ferry was the only way to go.
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