at Bleecker, Downing and Minetta Sts.

The gate to the Minetta Triangle was open, so I walked inside. It is the shape and size of a pizza slice. Three hundred years ago at this spot, brook trout used to thrive. A person could reach right in and grab lunch as one might reach into an unsupervised bucket for a loose pickle. Today, the fish are etched into the path in tribute to the last free lunch this town ever offered. Oddly enough, the etched fish look like Japanese koi, a creature that swims drunkenly. For many years, like all the parks in Manhattan, Minetta Triangle used to be predominantly concrete. Now it’s overgrown with too many plants, like all the parks in Manhattan. One could easily disappear here. A shiny pooper scooper was propped against a tree. On the ground were those work gloves with the blood red hands that look like the gloves of a serial killer. Someone (a volunteer?) was on break, soon to return. This person would surely bury my ear and six of my toes under the rose bushes. A serial killer lurks in every garden.