Andrew J. Lederer

Brooklyn as Dream:
Delicate, pink, cherry blossoms in the Brooklyn Botanic Garden, filling the air, falling on children, lovers and -- sprawled across the grass -- a bombastic blonde, fully dressed in the manner of a pre-hippie,'60s actress or model, looking like a classically-imagined stewardess in civilian clothes.

Brooklyn as Medieval Nightmare:
The healthy-looking, dead rat sprawled across the blacktop by the laundromat, looking ready for a photo shoot, a drop of something -- maybe blood -- not far from his head.

The sweet counter girl at Dunkin Donuts with her misshaped, darkened lip.

The delicate, pink, cherry blossoms in the Brooklyn Botanic Garden falling on Chassidic boys with Down's Syndrome.

when you call someone who always thought you were preposterous and is now in a position of authority and they don't get back to you.

But when it's someone who clearly liked and, at least to some extent, respected you, it just makes them a superficial, arrogant, self-important (even if also actually important) shithead.

Such is the case with the now long-term editor of a once-important humor organization which has spent more than ten years living off the reputation others imbued it with a long time ago and which is now, kind of respectable, if not exactly respected.

For instance, yesterday, walking through Bed-Stuy, the sun touched me with just the right kind of gentle.

If a guy came back from months of imprisonment craving an "American cheeseburger", it wouldn't likely be from Burger King.

and the search for love do not go well together.

It's difficult to meet someone from the depths of a Benadryl coma.

On the other hand, one becomes more keenly aware than ever of one's dreams even as the perpetual slumber limits their chances of coming true.

"Histamine Irony", I think it's called.