The pungent stench of rotting meat. By the late s, he was sleeping in the Riverside Park tunnel. The incentives paid by the Department of Homeless Services to landlords renting out shelter units far exceed the ones given for providing tenants with permanent single room occupancy lodging. As word spread of the tunnel, a growing number of graffiti artists came to paint the seemingly endless walls that flanked the train tracks. The smell down here is the one of brake dust and mold. The city growls over my head — a distant growl muffled by the concrete, almost a snarl, like something cold and foul spreading over the long stretches of stained walls, like a dark and wild beast curling up around me and breathing on my neck. There is a garden chair, and overturned crates and buckets. His real story has been buried long ago under thick layers of improvised memories that grew more detailed by the years, the man slowly becoming a collage of himself. But those who did go down called it home, and it became a haven for the destitute to unwind without fear of getting arrested or attacked like people on the streets often were. It smells like death here. I personally never witnessed unusual stuff. The expansion of extensive sewers and steam pipes systems had brought a newfound fascination with what laid below the streets.
I personally never witnessed unusual stuff. Like alligators in the sewers. He is bipolar and suffers from major substance dependence. A dark and wild beast silently trailing me. An ex-girlfriend and a kid. He used to be a gang member in the Bronx. This is where it all started. Another who attempted to go to the surface was Bob Kalinski, a speed addict known as the fastest cook east of the Mississippi, who could fry twenty eggs at a time when on amphetamines. He tells me to stay safe and to watch out for trains when I go back walking into the tunnel. That they spoke their own language. Are those eyes glowing nearby? Some, like Isaac, were at home in the darkness, and would not have lived anywhere else. He used to know Donald Trump. I deal with what I have. A New York Times article by John Tierney was the earliest to outline the phenomenon, looking at people living in an abandoned train tunnel beneath Riverside Park, along the banks of the Hudson River. The metallic vibration of a dragged chain? Conditions are appalling inside the Freedom House. One day, three men asked Isaac for a toll as he came by the th Street entrance to the tunnel. The father of two sons with two different women, he never cared much for family life, preferring to spend his smuggling profits on parties thrown at his Upper West Side penthouse. Rules were simple but strictly enforced. I hear him talk to himself as I go away from the entrance and from the white sky. Maybe talk to some people. This is who I am. We both eat in silence. They all showed simple human beings who were in no way comparable to the legends that had been told, and they all included a man named Bernard Isaac.
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