Adventures of Old New York: The Hell's Kitchen Edition

This didn't even happen on the remaining decrepit industrial side streets towards the West Side Highway. It happened on a corner of fashionable, trendy 9th Ave, the check cashing shop next to one of the sleek restaurants that populate the strip - an intersection between "Clinton" and "Hell's Kitchen".

There are moments when the old New York, the old Hell's Kitchen, has a sort of allure. The art to the madness and depravity. Similar to the aesthetic beauty found in abandoned industrial areas. Essentially, the places where Batman would be. It almost makes one to get a going-bald buzzcut, grow a mustache and a paunch, and become a New York Police Department detective. Or, alternatively, just look like Serpico. When in doubt, just look like Serpico.

When people, such as those in the article, refer to the incident as a relic of the old Hell's Kitchen, one of the last gasps by the dying generation of older junkies being crowded out by the wealthy and the elite, they need to simply take a bus over to the East Side and go uptown, head over the Triborough Bridge (or is that the RFK Bridge now?), and stop off at Randall's/Ward's Island, go past the soccer fields, and make a stop at the homeless shelter. Not only will they find the old junkies faffing about, they'll find young ones too.