Extract from «Martin’s Fields»
“…It’s too dark see is that you Mark… you know I don’t want to talk about. Just give me your hand and swing with me a little… Oh I got a new one by the way. What’s a pirate’s favorite letter?”
“No tis the C!”
Christie always had some dumb joke to tell. It was all a dumb joke to her I guess. That’s how she felt most days I think. A joke whose punchline was so bad you just had to laugh. There we were, two young adults still clinging to the rusted iron of yesterday’s swings.
Martin’s Field. A tiny unkempt plot of land with a sorry playground across from one of NY’s biggest cemeteries. Legend has it, Martin’s Field was once a Native American and Slave burial ground. But that didn’t stop the slides, swings, and wooden climbing blocks. The rumors proved truer than they did false, but the city thought it best to ignore them along with the park. So once more I found myself with Christie in that forgotten splintered garden from another time.