5 out of 5 cranes die without bling.

by Jesse Cameron Alick, East Coast Editor

I wish I could chronicle the day – lay it down, unfurl it for everyone to examine the intricacies of silence and warmth. But words fail so often in life. I suppose all we can do is try.

At 7am on Saturday morning, barely open, my eyes spotted Sammy sitting patiently at the JFK airtrain station. Having drunk and screamed until 3am the night/morning before, my voice was horse and my legs shook. I didn’t feel well. I never feel well though. Recently I’ve felt distant to everything – attention fully turned inward, away from the world of dust. But Sammy K is an old friend – one of Big Family – and so even distant, we are close. Hugging over the turnstile, Sammy swiped his card twice. It wouldn’t open because I was standing too close (story of my life), and magically as I took a step back the gates swept wide open (again, the story of my life). A half hour later we were back in Brooklyn – sitting at Tom’s Diner, Sammy K patiently listening to me ending every sentence with “…”. But the coffee and tea, spilling all over us, brought us back to life. We went back to my apartment and picked up my roommate Travis, a musician from Georgia, who is the only other person I know that calls Sam by the nickname “Sammy K”. The three of us walked through Prospect Park for hours, trying to make our way to a boathouse which Travis said had a great echo. Through trails, off the beaten path, past waterfalls that were so painstakingly designed they almost looked natural – but it was too beautiful, too perfect, straight lines and square edges – up great stairs to the highest point in the park, where we could have seen all over Brooklyn had it been autumn or winter. But it was spring and it started to rain as we walked past the lake, hoodies up, like good Brooklyn boys, getting wetter, but warmer somehow, as morning gave way to early afternoon. And then the boathouse! Victory! We climbed over the fence and ran to the dock of the boathouse, just as the employees inside closed the doors on us, saying they wouldn’t open them up for 15 more minutes. But standing in the rain had its benefits; I don’t think that the idea of “Chains for Cranes” ever would have been born had we not been left out in the wilderness. And when the boathouse opened, and we went in, well as it turned out Travis was wrong and there was no echo at all. But that was alright. We were home shortly, the sun blazing, sitting on the fire escape, smoking like we were on fire. And we were – company with old friends does that to ones soul – ignites. And even as it began, it was time for it to end, Sammy was on a schedule: Montana to Denver, Denver to Brooklyn, Brooklyn to Limerick, Limerick to Dublin, Dublin to Milan. And from there further and further, into the summer.

"...To provide them with the trappings of wealth..."

Brooklyn was only a stop on the way, a short layover.

At Nostrand station, waiting for the subway, all I could think of was the quote “And though you want to last forever, you know you never will. And the goodbye makes the journey harder still.” So when the time came, it was a quick hug, a short salute, and we went off in our separate directions. From there, further and further, into the summer.