If you know me personally, you know I thrive on a good scare. Growing up, I'd immerse myself in horror classics like 'The Pit and the Pendulum", Wolf Rilla's 'Village of the Damned', and of course, Kubrick's 'Shining', until I had grown up to lose all tact and give much praise to Stephen King's 'IT', sleep-away camp slashers, and
any Japanese subtitled thriller, which would generally revolve around a dead orphan girl who haunts your quintessential American guy, gal, or newlywed couple. When my artist grandfather painted me a portrait of myself, I used to cry myself to sleep under the covers, thinking that the painting had come to life. The
boy in the painting was making faces at me. END OF STORY.
My thirst for cheap thrill continued today, as my girlfriend Amy and I had taken the long way back from a photo gig in L.I.., driving through Howard Beach and Rockaway, Queens, finally ending up at an abandoned US Navy site in the deep end of Floyd Bennet Field National Recreation Area.
Who knew Brooklyn could be so creepy?
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