Brick Lane, Mang.


It was crowded, sure, but what’s really dribbling outta the fingertips right now reads like this: I am certain that I’ve never seen better graffiti than what lives in-between the lines of Brick Lane’s geography.

There’s some authentic:


Some sharp:


And the result is that all modes of humanity can enjoy–like a great brothel, or if God had a twitter handle.

I don’t think it’s necessary that I describe Curry and Szechuan as Far-Eastern flavors here; if you don’t know good Indian food by now, you probably shouldn’t be reading a blog entry on Brick Lane. Sharpen up, citizen: There are bloggers out there with a heady snare for followers, and you will not benefit.

But, if you are already aware of the sensation that chicken and rice stained yellow has on the taste pallet, look no further. Trust a Brick Lane vendor. Trust me.

Also, check out Allen Park just off of Brick Lane. There are playground obstacles (?) there that seem to have evaded my childhood–and at an age deemed mature enough to buy liquor, you should have seen me at that park. Twenty whole minutes–it’s the truest thing I’ll ever say.

Anyway, keep up with life as you best see fit–personally, I’m just traveling at this point in my life, so, you know…

Unknown-3 (Love that translation underneath, don’t you?)

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