The Brooklyn Ink

By Amanda Massa

Atlantic Avenue at seven in the morning: intersections like these could make those without cars thankful for their Metro cards. With each green light, cars punch the gas, peeling ahead at full-force like a drag race commute to work.

Sixty seconds: that’s the exact time pedestrians have to cross both Flatbush and Atlantic, by way of 4^th St. in the triangular intersection. The only way to get across both roads without getting stuck in the middle was to run—and that’s what they did.

It looked like the route for a morning workout; several people at a time swiftly scurrying across the pavement as a flashing red hand signal awaited them ahead. But these people weren’t completing a morning jog; they were just heading to the subway.

They ran holding book bags and coffees. Some wore business suits; others had sweatshirt hoods pulled over their heads, headphone wires hanging from their ears. One man sipped Red Bull through a straw as he ran. Another casually ate a banana as he hustled across.

Groups of pedestrians crossed all at once; it was a race between them and the drivers. Those in their cars inched toward the crosswalk, waiting for the green light, watching pedestrians scramble to reach the corner. About a dozen people crossed at once, hurriedly stepping into the road seconds after the ‘walk’ signal illuminated.

But alas! A straggler. A woman wearing a red overcoat scampers up the block, determined to cross with the crowd, which has already made it safely across. She hesitates for a moment then bolts for the other side. Flash, flash, flash; the red hand gives the warning. But it is too late.

Green light. The woman continues her shuffle across, but the cars take off like bullets. A taxi catapults toward the woman and the driver blows its horn. Without looking over, the woman screams, “asshole!”  Her sneakers reach the sidewalk, and she walks to the LIRR entrance.