While admiring the numerous decaying piers on Manhattan’s west side, home to many a working-class mollusk family, I came across a flyer. It too was decaying, fraying from the Hudson’s rhythmic sloshing. It wasn’t easy to retrieve without falling into the drink. I took comfort in knowing how difficult it must’ve been to hang. I sat on a half-submerged slab of concrete that once served a vaguely nautical purpose reading the flyer. From what I could see, the contents were vaguely political, relating to the upcoming mayoral race. Still wet, I dried the paper off by holding it dangerously close to the Westside Highway, letting the speeding cars do what a laundromat never could. Here’s what I found:
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