Lee Quiñones
I’ve spent 44 years in New York. I was born in Ponce, Puerto Rico and flew over in the then Pan American propeller planes when I was one year old. I settled in the Lower, Lower East Side, a stones throw from the now defunct Fulton Fish Market.
I would think one can become a New Yorker as fast as it takes to have your first breath of fresh, wholesome, New York stressed air — you can cut it with a knife, just as the humidity. The vortex of Atlantis starts its run here; you can truly have a “broken heart” here and see that life keeps crossing over the bridges, uprooting itself from the underground, and honking its horn at ya. Once you take a straight sheet of metal and brake form it to create a bend, it strengthens.
New York is not a part of the US mainland frame of thinkin’, cause it really is the host of the worlds “coincidence of being”. Time lines of fashion statements, finance markets, politics, and the arts are all on stage or up-staged here. Its like the security metal detectors at the airports, everyone feels the guilt and elation as they pass through it while the world watches you.
If I could be anywhere in New York it would be in the Cyclone Coaster’s last car whipping on the peak drop-off, you can feel the breeze of the ocean in front of you and the screams of society in back while you snuggle your woman’s rack on that leap of faith.
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