#154, Smith Street, Brooklyn
Smith Street is my neighborhood backbone; without it, my whole city would fall apart. You can get keys made, shoes resoled, accordion straps fixed, lattes prepared, prescriptions filled, and enjoy a nice 12 or 16 oz. goblet of something hoppy and delicious at Bar Great Harry to keep you going for the second half of the day.
Between work and play, I probably spend more time ducking in and out of Smith Street establishments than I do in my own apartment. It's not a particularly pleasant walk: the traffic above ground moves with aggravated impatience, punctuated with frequent honks, and you get the noise from below as well. The F train runs along Smith and you can hear the rattle of subways through the grates in the sidewalks, which you always have to tiptoe over because of the encroachment of that boarded-up site around Degraw that's been there forever.
Dodging parking meters, delivery boys on bikes, opened cellar doors, and squinting on the walk through the mid-day Smith Street sun trap are all part of my daily routine. Still, I love it, because it's my 'hood and there are friendly sights like this bright red 154 to look forward to. And if you look closely at the window, you can see the reflection of falling snow, a treat on an otherwise ordinary February morning earlier this year.