Along Wyckoff there was a little door.

Who lives here? A princess? Dwarf? Or a nursery rhyme character?

This isn’t inside of a building, but the door facing the street and I admit… I was dying to go inside.

I imagine something very shabby chic, rustic, and bare… or you know, a strawberry shortcake apartment. Either or.

                          

Hidden among warehouses, there are tons of galleries and hidden treasures. Above a normal Laundromat on Melrose, things weren’t any different. There was art everywhere, Friday night. Conceptually, we were drinking art, finding art in filing cabinets, called the “Flat File,” and of course, the walls were adorned with various pieces, many of them picturesque and romantic.

The Laundromat – 238 Melrose St., 4th fl.

                          

It was a scavenger hunt, offering us some curiosity, we called the number with a cryptic message asking us to find wormwood tied by pink ribbons. The recorded voice on the line invited us, “Come have tea.” I wondered if it would be a found art project full of people found at the block party. My companion, being savvier than I, she found the bundle of wood after some scouting. We followed it to an iron stairway path lined with green bags full of dirt.

We. Found. A. Hut. It was made with other found objects. And “found people,” sitting inside a faux fur-lined structure. They were having an impromptu discussion on waste, having entered the structure through a curtain of pristine white hanging plastic of tampons. We didn’t have any desire to talk to these people, but we wanted to sit in the hut.

After thought: I guess a lot of people in Brooklyn have iMacs.

                          

He’s looking for a good home, no doubt. He came out to the depths of Brooklyn to look at those cheap listings. This is an old picture, one from 2009. And unfortunately, I haven’t seem him again around here.

I would have loved to have him as a neighbor, flowering pink streamers from his trunk. Of course he’s sensitive, and an artist. He was quite taken with the local gardens and would have flowered and bloomed his way through any community garden. You know, because that’s jut to way he rolls. He’s quiet, watchful, and the perfect roomate. A welcome whimsical addition to any neighborhood.

“Come see local flowering pink Elephant give a poetry recital,” the poster would say. And we would just have a hard time convincing locals that this isn’t a new hipster band name. Still, most people would come around and market value would come up. Naturally. It would be an Papier-Mâché elephant explosion!

Alas, there is no elephant or walrus or any other interesting mammals living in this neighborhood. It’s probably not gentrified enough for their sophisticated tastes. Bubblegum and whiskey.

(My partner keeps telling me that I should start a blog called, “SHIT found on !#*% street!” Where, the “!#*%” is my street name. This isn’t that blog.)