East Broadway Apartment

Everything worked. It’s a subway station, and I saw Curtis Sliwa there during the day, so that’s probably good.

My mom and I have been to this station. It’s deep, so we both had to walk down from street level to the platform. It’s the last stop in Manhattan before the F train goes under the east river to Brooklyn, and the F stops here at all times.

There are a lot of people there, so be careful and look around. Anyone from New York knows what can happen on the F line. You just have to stay aware at train stations nowadays. Still, overall, it is safe.

The station’s deep, dark, and damp, where F train riders climb up blinking beneath a flickering lamp in Chinatown. The escalator’s broken, the station smells, and the ceiling leaks like sorrow. Three stars for a grim stop. Above ground, the neighborhood is divine. Head toward Dimes Square and there are shops selling things called “raw,” menus full of unfamiliar food like cashew ricotta, jackfruit, and seitan slaw. The girls wear vintage, every guy has bangs, and they sip mushroom lattes looking bored while someone reads a chapbook to a crowd of nodding heads in spaces they can’t afford. Go south to Seward Park, though, and the real ones are playing. The ping pong tables call, and uncles dominate all day with backhand spins that stop the hipsters. No fancy paddle or athleisure gear, just plastic bats and decades of technique. They’ll smoke you with a Tsingtao and a sneer, then send you back to Dimes Square feeling meek. Up top, old and woke life collide, and ping pong is played with devastating love. Tofu reigns and backhand serves align.