Went down to the local mini-supermarket this morning. We’d run out of coffee here. Had a minor altercation with a black guy who didn’t like the way I walked past him with a shopping basket. He followed me round to the next isle “Hey white man, you don’t go over the top of me. You say excuse me – and then I let you pass”. I figured he must have taken exception to me lifting the basket while passing him. I don’t know for sure. Anyhoo, he was a big, mean lookin’ guy so, with the strongest Aussie accent I could muster, I said, “Jeeeeze, sorry mate. Didn’t mean to upset ya!” – to which he seemed momentarily stuck for words. I took the opportunity to walk away.

It’s the first uncomfortable incident I’ve had since being here. We’re staying in a very working-class, black neighbourhood notoriously known as ‘Bed Sty’ in Brooklyn. When you’re out on the street, the ratio of black people to white people is about 100 to 1. While it often looks rough & lawless, people stop and say hello. They talk with their neighbours, stoop to stoop, and sometimes with us when we’re passing by (the stoop is the set of front steps to an apartment). It’s a world apart from Manhattan island, a 20 minute train-ride away, which feels like the complete opposite; wealthier people, designer stores, slick and enourmous high rise buildings, gigantic bill-boards, fountains, Central Park and limousines.

I guess that small episode in the store this morning was a reminder that, when you scratch the surface, not everything’s OK here. Probably a good thing to stay on your toes. I was starting to get pretty relaxed.

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Fires out.

PS: Shot above taken last month by Ania Korcz at Seven Festival, Poland.