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It smells like fall - and concrete

Today I'm prying my air conditioner out of my kitchen window, after waking up this morning to find that the apartment was about 40 degrees. Not that I'm complaining that much - I'm one of those freaks who loves freezing apartments in the dead of winter. But the ammount of dirt that streams through and around the AC is phenomenal - the reason being all the construction going on in this part of Jersey City. I'm a little tired of the constant layers of dirt sifting through my kitchen, so I think it's time to pull the plug.

In case you're curious, construction across the street consists of: a 25+ story condo building, a ginormous parking garage (right across from me!), a huge mess of machinery and equipment sitting on a patch of land that will soon be cleared to become a high-rise office building, and a 29 story/400+ unit luxury apartment and condo complex (that's the building on the left of the photo). That's what I look at every morning. That's what I hear every morning.

Now on my side of the street, there's not a lot of room left for building. But there's just enough. Three tenement houses are being torn down to make way for another high-rise apartment building. And at the far righ end of the block, and triangular parking lot will soon become - wait for it! - yet another luxury condo or faux-loft building.

The small tenement building I'm in is situated between the parking garage of an apartment building directly behind us, and the back entrance to yet another apartment building. I don't see us being kicked out anytime soon, but it'll happen. I figure I've got about five more years here before the landlord decides to sell to someone who thinks they can build a high-rise condo consisting of 350-square-foot studios that sell for $800,000 apiece. That's fine - it's enough time to save up my money for the next move. I'll need five years to box up all my books, anyway.

Have a nice weekend, everyone.

Marine Autumn

I owe you marine autumn
With dankness at its roots
and fog like a grape
and the graceful sun of the country;
and the silent space
in which sorrows lose themselves
and only the bright crown
of joy comes to the surface.

--Pablo Neruda.


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