Freelance photojournalist.
Has contributed to many fine publications that you'd recognize.
Lives in Brooklyn, New York.
Freelance photojournalist.
Has contributed to many fine publications that you'd recognize.
Lives in Brooklyn, New York.
In NJ a crowded pier was lined with strange shops and food stands that were brighter than the length of Manhattan in the distance. People, gathered only for the fireworks shuffled about in an effort to obtain the best view. Other awkwardly camped out amid the concrete and pavement, trash from the days meals scattered around them. Then the fireworks started. More bustling and more pushing.
The show itself seemed to be a muted celebration not very long and not very elaborate. Strange fireworks that made odd distorted smiley faces in the night sky were different and their hyperbole made me depressed. Gone, it seemed, were the days during the more prosperous years where elaborate shows and parties were the norm and no one needed to be reminded to smile at fireworks. The smiley faces were, for me, a symptom of a country that wasn’t as sure about itself or the future as it was in the past. A reminder to smile.
Later, in Brooklyn, Puerto Rican youths and hipsters gathered and partied into the early morning; long after the families and children on the NJ side had filed home and gone to bed.
