In the most recent NY Press, Joshua Bernstein describes how his once out-of-favor neighborhood all of a sudden began attracting poorly written flyers soliciting building owners to sell, sell, sell. In the process, he provides some less than flattering (though purposefully theatrical) color on the hood:

My rent is cheap because I live on Brooklyn’s Crown and Prospect Heights border. Around here, my bodega sells toilet paper through a Plexiglas hole. A nightly gunshot symphony lulls me to sleep. And around the corner, drug dealers more bloodthirsty than mosquitoes ply substances green and white. A few months back, one unfortunate salesman received an additional hole in his head. Quality-of-life issues, yes, but for three bedrooms in a tidy brownstone with minor troubles (ceiling aside, there’s a sticky bathroom door and a finicky radiator), my roommates and I pay just $1,650.

Going Postal [NY Press]