Greenpoint A-tattered
By Rebecca Katherine Hirsch

From the frightful moment of conception to the last asphyxiating gasp, one’s stay on God's Earth is positively fulminating with meaning. But what is meaning? A day at the beach, a newborn babe, a determined waterbug swimming to safety? Meaning is hard to define because it’s so magical, but I get the shadowy sensation it has to do with walking. And that is why I’ve come to you personally to share one of my favorite walks. But be warned: This outing is not for the feeble-minded, nor for the feeble of foot. This walk will take us past many distinct neighborhoods, and thusly many distinct ethnic denizens, armed. We will pass highly populated thoroughfares and derelict underpasses. We will go gently into that good night and we will not return. Come.

We begin at Manhattan and Greenpoint Avenues, the intersection of all we’ve known before and what we leave behind. We are firmly in the fold of Polish Greenpoint. Platinum coifs and patterned kerchiefs dance in the moonlight; the scent of kielbasa and the sounds of Haddaway barrel down the avenues. Let us advance downward in the direction of Williamsburg. Let us saunter south on Manhattan Avenue until we reach Bedford, or one block further, Driggs. We may decide to proceed on Bedford if we are lonely for the company of strangers and Driggs if we long for solitude. On whichever street we take, let us proceed south.

Hasids on the March
By Jake Dobkin

Now we are in Williamsburg. The pedestrians are younger, energetic but they know their time has passed. South we walk past the descending numbered streets whose names begin with North. After we pass Metropolitan, North 1st and Grand, the numbers ascend and start with a South. We may now notice a predominant Hispanic appearance to the neighborhood, still industrial, sooty and speckled with shiny storefronts and new appurtenances and wealthier inhabitants. When we come to South 6th Street after passing underneath the Williamsburg Bridge, I suggest that if we are not already on Bedford Avenue, we walk to it now. On Driggs, it is the next street to the right. Now! We come upon a sect of human known as the Hasidim. These purportedly religious-minded fellows are men of the cloth—the Judaic cloth, in other words: a tallis. This is South Williamsburg, and these are the Satmar (the most strict and insular of the Hasidic dynasties). Continue south on Bedford, though you may feel like a walking target. When you get to Williamsburg Street East or West, take a right.

Vanderbilt Tracks by Night + Photoshop
By Rebecca Katherine Hirsch

Congratulations! You’ve reached the borderland. Continue right to Flushing Avenue, then one more block to Park Avenue. Here, we walk in the shadow of the Brooklyn Queens Expressway, past a few defecting Hasids, a brave solitary jogger, and homeless men jampacked in corners. Welcome to the gloom of the Navy Yard and nearly Clinton Hill. Continue right on Park til you see Washington Avenue, on which street you will take a left, past Myrtle, Willoughby, and DeKalb. Stop when you get to Lafayette. Admire the architecture of broad-streeted, leafy of foliage, wide and somber Fort Greene. Take a right on Lafayette, a left on South Portland and stop when you get to Atlantic Avenue.

Hello, isolation. Hello, olden Vanderbilt Tracks. Soon, all this may be gone to the Atlantic Yards project. Or perhaps not, as our crumbling economy has kept the condos-and-projects development stalling, praise Jesus (Hay-zeus). For now, admire the inactive railyards. Then turn right on Atlantic, walking West. When you come to Nevins take a right until State Street. I realize this is a lot of turning, but it is beyond essential we bypass the bulk of Downtown, which is vulgar.

Promenade by Early Eve
By Rebecca Katherine Hirsch

Tale a left onto State and continue till you come to Smith. Walk right on Smith 'til you get to Fulton Street at which point Smith Street becomes Jay Street. Don’t be confused. Take a left on Fulton (which soon becomes Joralemon; your route doesn’t change) and then a right on Clinton til you come to Pierrepont Street, at which point you merely walk left until you see the Promenade and the East River. My goodness, what a view! The Manhattan skyline, the inky night! This is the Promenade, the peach of Brooklyn Heights, the apple of the borough’s eye, the esplanade of the rich and the proselytizers, the site of many young Latino teenagers’ assignations and various other interesting things as well.

In short, you’ve now reached the end of my Meaningful Voyage. The only way back now is by public transportation, the river, or your weary feet. I imagine after two hours’ walking, you’d like to give yourself a rest. I understand that feeling, traveler. Sometimes a man needs naught but a feather bed, the darkness, and a restful sleep. Unfortunately, your home is miles away. And being romantic and impulsively perambulatory, you forgot to pack your Benjamins—for a cab and some Cristal. So do as the nonexistent homeless people do in this tony Brooklyn enclave and jampack yourself into a corner and sleep.