(Photos by Joe)

Highbridge Park gets its name from NYC’s oldest standing bridge, the High Bridge (1848). I labeled the bridge in the photos as the “Old Croton Aqueduct,” which it was part of. The Harlem River runs below it.

Here are my STORIES and PHOTOS

(Photo by Bald Punk – Empire State in background) 

Well, date night didn’t start out so good. The pizza and Chinese delivery guys tagged along, and we had to take like ten trains to get there. Not really but it seemed like we did. We took the 1 and 9 train from 42nd St. It took forever. It was probably the 1 that we took, but you call it the 1 and 9 just because. 

We went the wrong way down to South Ferry and when the mofo stops and the conductor says for everyone to get out, my lady wonders why we didn’t get off at our stop. She looks at me and I look at the pizza guy, and he looks at the Chinese guy. Nobody knows. So we took the train all the way back uptown and my lady asked the pizza guy where we should get off and now that she’s knows—we’re fine. 

On a side note, how the f@#k do these guys deliver shit? I won’t even go into the Chinese guy. I’ve told you how he doesn’t speak. What happens if he has to make change or gets the wrong address? And the pizza guy, he ain’t all there. That’s all I’ll say.  

So there we are on the 1 and 9 going back uptown all the way up Broadway, and I find myself wondering what is the pizza guy thinking. I have no idea why I care. But he seems to be real happy. I’m pretty sure it’s his friend’s house we’re going to. And he’s so happy that when I look at him, he smiles at me like we’re friends. So I smile back. Yet his smile is the weird kinda smile that if he does it again I’m gonna think maybe something’s wrong with him. Then I look over at the Chinese guy, and he is whacked. He’s digging in his ear like it’s his nose, and then he starts scratching his head, and I’m wondering why am I looking at him. I guess cause he’s right across from me. And you know I wouldn’t even try to imagine what he’s thinking. Though it does occurs to me that if there was a blackout on the train, when the lights come back on his pants would probably be at his ankles. That’s just how he is. Whacked. The thought of being on a farm in NJ with him scares the shit out of me. They don’t have lights in some parts of NJ at night, and they have barns full of live animals. The thought of what he might do is like a scary movie you haven’t seen. 

Anyway, finally we get off on 168th street and B’way in Washington Heights. Since it’s a Saturday night, all the mofo’s are out. You have to see it. Just walk a block and every eight and a half feet someone has a radio blasting. No one has the same station on, either. It’s coming from cars, storefronts, and some sick ass boom boxes. Everyone, I mean, everyone, is smiling and talking a mile a minute. And they’re drinking 40’s, even some of the ladies. 

Now I’m not going to say anything about the Spanish ladies, except that they are hot as shit, (which is what I wasn’t going to say). It’s because I’m walking like the guy who played Frankenstein in the movies–with a stiff neck and all. It’s because I’m a gentleman, and I’m with my lady and I don’t want to turn and check out all the fine ladies. But it’s whacked. The Chinese guy is even noticing them, and the pizza guy can’t stop smiling. But it was great, you could feel the excitement, and I don’t ever think shit like that. 

Then two seconds later my lady stops and says where’s the Chinese guy, and I think, “cool, we lost him.” But he was just with us my lady says, and because she’s cool as shit she has to find him. Sure enough she does it in like two seconds. He’s in an alley talking (I shit you not) to some woman. This guy who never talks to anyone—but I swear to god!, there he was, and his mouth was moving, and he was with this babe in a super, skintight white dress and I look closer and his lips are really moving. Now I don’t even know the bastard’s name, so it’s not like there’s anything I can say, and I know my lady will be mad if I say let’s leave his ass. But anyway, she’s not waiting for me to do anything. She goes over there and says something to the Chinese and then to the chick, and that’s it. When I see the Chinese guy, he looks real upset. I can’t get a mental picture of what would have happened, but he was going to hook up with her. That girl must have been whacked. Anyway, the Chinese dude is all miserable. He’s got these puffy cheeks, and they’re sort of hanging and even his eyes are droopy. I almost feel sorry for the bastard. 

SO! Finally, we get to the pizza guy’s friend’s apartment, and there are these three chicks that open the door. They are Spanish, and are of course hot-as-hell because it’s one of the Spanish genes. Even the one that has gray hair. I shit you not. If you don’t believe me, go walking around in Washington Heights or Spanish Harlem, and you will know what I mean. 

And from there on it’s whacked!!! 

They bring us plates of food and cans of Tecate. The food is like the best shit I’ve ever had: fried plantains, plates of rice and beans, arrozo con pollo, and flan. My head’s spinning it’s so good, and I’m like a dog sniffing and savoring all the spices. Now I can’t stop smiling. Then they turned off cable TV and put on the DVD player and showed us the Wrestler movie with Mickey Rourke. It was AWESOME! 

It was like the best night in forever. Especially because my lady was so happy. The best part is that when we left, they said we can come back, which I’m not used to, but you had to see these three ladies. I believed them.