Last week, a recycling worker was crushed to death when he was buried in an avalance of trash dumped in a tractor trailer by a co-worker. (The man was in the trailer.) This happened at a transfer station in Greenpoint, within walking distance of my house.
Sunday, work on the roof of a police -- and ironically, fire -- station in downtown Brooklyn went awry, causing propane tanks to explode -- and propelling one onto an off-ramp of the BQE. I heard the blast while napping at a friend's house in Cobble Hill, and we saw the smoke from Smith Street.
And today, a seven-warehouse complex combusted in Greenpoint. I can still see the smoke against the beautful reds and oranges of the setting sun to the west from my kitchen window. A friend reports that her building is covered in ash, and word is that the warehouses' owner experienced a similar fire in Vinegar Hill. At least one of the sites was ripe for redevelopment. Suspicious!
I'm considering starting a Brooklyn Kickball team called the Fireballs. Who's with me?
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