"Somewhere accross the river is a place that's over the rainbow. Between Coney Island's carnival-crowned beaches and Greenpoint's motley awnings lies a vivid collage: Bushwick's kaleidoscopic murals offset the brick facades of Williamsburg; Park Slope's magnificent brownstone rows flank the grassy hills of Prospect Park. The spectrum reaches from the bronze statues of Grand Army Plaza to the golden theaters of BAM to the silvery waterfronts of Red Hook. The subway pulls out of its last Manhattan stop and picks up speed as it barrels toward Brooklyn. She reclines in her seat. By now, she can recite each stop without looking: Bedford, Lorimer... Someday, she thinks, one of them will be her stop. 'You're so Brooklyn,' her friends tell her, but she's not sure why. Is it because she knits? Across the car, she notices a girl, arms covered in tattoos, outfit clashing and yet unquestionably cool. It takes a lot more than knitting to fit in here. Rocked by the turbulent jolts of the train, she picks up the cowl she's working on. The yarn is soft, dyed in a melange of colors. When she looks up, she sees the tattooed girl, head bent, carefully purling a row. She smiles." "Local Color" excerpt from Malabrigo Book 7 - Rasta in Brooklyn
