Anton - Brooklyn, NY

The Brooklyn Kitchen. We had a night and two scraps of day. Having a friend to crash with made the New York City trip possible. I was traveling with my little sister, and my eight year old niece. An ambitious plan to see a few fabric stores in the garment district, propelled us into the summer heat with our overnight bags on our shoulders. By the time we arrived at Anton’s apartment in Fort Hamilton, we were grateful for the perch. He lives in one of the bedrooms on the second floor of a brownstone. He shares the space with a family downstairs: a mom, a dad and a toddler who can do stairs. The little one toddled up the long flight to visit us in the morning. 

There’s a few more tenants upstairs. One of the bedrooms is occupied by a woman who is spending the summer in Greece. She works in commercial kitchens so cleanliness is important to her. In her absence, Anton does his best to maintain order and water her plants. He’s busy himself, back in graduate school after working for fifteen years. The three of us slept on a very comfortable futon and woke up at exactly the same time taking turns to use the vintage pink clad toilet. There was a vent in the wall where we could hear the family downstairs. They were waking up too.

Anton made a classic breakfast from our college days: toasted pita and scramble. Thrifty to his core, he ate the eggs my niece couldn’t finish. We listened to a French record while we sketched out the day. There was a friend with a car and a dream to see the ocean. Some of us had bathing suits, some of us didn’t. It was ok, we were on our way to Coney Island where anything goes.