On Friday afternoons, when the weather’s nice, I walk home across the Brooklyn Bridge. Packed with tourists, it’s a real shame that the stairway up from Park Row is literally an open-air toilet. I know to hold my nose as I approach, and always dread what I might find. In my experience, it’s often not cleaned for days. This is 50 feet away from a police-booth manned 24/7.
Luckily though, once I bound up the steps (breathing only through my mouth), it’s behind me, and I’m out over the water.
And every once in a while, you find something extra cool like up there (this was on the stairwell down to Brooklyn Heights).
Gabriella, whoever left this for you, is a keeper.