@NYCFiltered

You know how people say use the hashtag #NoFilter? So this is basically the complete opposite. I take photos of interesting scenes in the city, give em' the old structure-saturation-shadow-sharpen treatment, and then write longform copy to match the image.  @nycfiltered.

Three posts I like.

I never mail it in. 
Never. Not even once. I almost did. Twice. One time it was raining. The other time it was too hot. I've delivered deliveries for 4,328 straight days. That's almost 12 years of not mailing it in. I've never traveled out of the city but I've held paper from Brazil, Botsawana, Finland and Indonesia. Other places too, but I remember those specifically because of the stock of paper. No. To answer your question I've never read a letter. And no it's not because I saw castaway and was inspired. But I do often read the addressed-to's. I mean like, I have to read that you know. I've seen some great stuff: To:...Master, Foe, My Long Lost uncle, Rasputin. Etc. To be honest, I went through a dark period where I wasn't so proud of my job. But then I had a kid. Believe it or not, but the thing that really turned it around, the thing that gave me life was Blues Clues. Anne-Marie was 4 and watching Blues Clues. Anyways there's this moment when Steve (that's the guy) says Maaaaaiillll Tiiiiimmeee. Anne-Marie became obsessed. Then when she found out I-her own mother- was a mail distributor, she could not be more proud of her momma. And as a result, her momma could not be more proud to be her momma. (That's me btw.)

You ever roll one of these bad boys around the city? The first few times around the block you get stares. "Why is such a fly guy wheeling one of those old lady laundry mobiles?" And then they see what you're hauling. Not dirty clothes. But domino sets from Turkey. Stacks of old National Geographic magazines. A box of doughnuts. A trombone that Jelly Roll Morton once picked up, played a chromatic scale on and said "nope out of tune, get me another." A collection of discarded vinyls. Stuff like that. Cool stuff. Then you'll see those cats on the block waiting for you, saying "There goes Mr. Fresh going for a spin with his cart of intrigue." They'll be sitting in folding chairs, stretching their necks out for a look into your wheel basket. The pressure might start to mount. "What will I take for a stroll today?" You'll start going to flea markets and thrift shops, yard sales and lowkey boutiques. Nothing quite matching the level of cool now associated with your cart. Until you realize, it's bigger than that now. It's not about what's it the cart. It's about who's wheeling it. And how it's being wheeled. And the fact that it's being wheeled at all. You're a symbol. An icon. A marker for all society that the concept of cool lies deeply in the soul of anyone and anything. So you take your 4-wheel of wonder to the farmers market and consider whether those petunias will look nice on your kitchen table. 

That day it was so hot I could bend the left leg of my plastic Super Man action figure so that his foot bent in front of his knee. I was 8. My mom insisted on taking us to the public pool but Dad swiftly rejected that plan. Why should we go to the pool when he could just take the hose and spray us down. To be honest the pool sounded more fun to my brother and me, but the fact that dad was going to exert any effort for the sake of our enjoyment was not lost on us. So, we changed into our bathing suits and walked onto the melting Brooklyn sidewalk. Dad dragged the hose from the side of the house. It barely reached the curb. And with a beer in his right hand and the hose in his left, he halfheartedly sprayed us for 13 minutes. It wasn't much, but that was the greatest moment of any summer I've ever lived through. Including The cruise to Nassau. People walk by and must think - that must suck, hosing the back of a garbage truck. But I honestly can't think of a single action that could bring me more nostalgic joy. At this raucous construction site in this roaring city, I'm quietly at peace.