Caity Conga

When having trouble describing a neighborhood, I look around. I do the Cha-Cha Slide: a slide to the left, then the right, then back. A mental tap-dance on the New York City map is all I need to get me in the right direction.

So when I needed to find a Rite Aid close by the dorm, I shimmied around the Lower East Side until I found it. A few taps to the right is Chinatown, to the left are some projects, with some hip little restaurants and dives in between.

As it turns out, the only Rite Aid on my dance floor was a jive to the left. The art galleries and boutiques gave way to factories and large housing projects. While marching down the blocks I saw a sad little book lying on its side, wet and worn-down, its title face-up for the world to mock.

“The Audacity of Hope, Barack Obama” sighed the dog-eared pages of this melancholy little novel. The sight of the lonely block littered with nothing – no people, or stores – but this book, left a sour taste in my mouth. It made me chuckle at its irony, but overall was a pretty bitter image. I shook my head, took a snapshot, and reluctantly rumba’d on my way.