A Brooklyn Culture Mafia

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From Vleigh Place headwaters and its Kew Gardens, through the valley of ash (scattered not absorbed, as ash is wont to do), fed by the Fly and Ireland Creeks, and the Horse's Brook. And down the camino, the walk of the stream, Saint Vitus ("Saint Vicus") namesake of Sydenham's chorea, and patron of dancers (oh Lucia!), a little holy helping to hops & scotch, shot-n-a-can deal—"Hail Satan!" a passkey at the entrance, smol selective game, well worth $2 lagers at Morbid hour, suspended crosses from the ceiling. (Tragic its holy grounds epitaphed in August '24, with a pentagram and flowers—shut down by city officials, for lacking proper permits, though Brannan thought the 311 had been "weaponized.")
 
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glacial stone which, after a thousand miles and a thousand years of travel, quietly settled a border dispute between Newtown's Queens County, and Bushwick's Kings. (But was buried by roadwork, and left underground til preservation at the Onderdonk House—or so the House believes, all certainty lost to time.)
 
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