On a clear day, I can see Manhattan in the horizon, dreamy and golden off in the distance; so near but so far away for the residents who have called my neighborhood home for generations. The JMZ rattles violently above Broadway on an elevated platform outside my window, ferrying people to and from the City.

They beat a man to death around the corner.

They shot a man in front of my door.

The Projects across the street, visible from the JMZ, tower over the Brooklyn skyline, piles of the poor stacked upwards to heaven.