Republic was the first restaurant I knew of that did communal seating. I now sit at Flatbush Farm, in its garden. In a post 9/11 New York it represents the response of people to events beyond their control. Meaning, I can smoke with the reminder that sharing space aids in the development of community.
The menu boasts of locally grown ingredients. They all come from Upstate New York and the relatively neighbouring State of Pennsylvania. Its a statement on the eco-conscious thrust which encourages shorter travel distances for produce while supporting local farmers.
I am enclosed by a four storey high exposed red brick wall building partly covered by vines. Its an apartment building of which the establishment forms the ground floor. A fire escape acts as a metaphor for part of the reason I sit here. A friend once said to me she felt as if she escaped Trinidad. I break it up and it means in part the place was too hot, you can take that as you like.
Its approaching Fall in the City and at least the temperature is cooler. I think to myself, sitting alone I can do all the good I want and still feel bad. Doing all the bad I want doesn't make me feel good though. Its all I desire though. In this place of so much I want nothing more than to feel good before, during and after.