Your brother has an affair with a married woman. What do you do? Tell him he’s an idiot, or perhaps that he’s playing with fire? Or do you support him whilst telling him he’s making a big mistake? Perhaps there are circumstances as to why this has happened and you don’t feel it’s your place to judge? Or perhaps you simply don’t care – after all, it’s not your life. But what if it was made your business in the worst way? What if, simply because of your brother’s indiscretions, you were going to be raped?
If you’re anything like me, you’ve romanticised the hell out of Williamsburg/Greenpoint, in Brooklyn, New York. I’ve come to the conclusion that this is most likely because you either a) love ‘Girls’ (I’m guilty!), or b) wish you were a little bit cooler like Jenny in Gossip Girl – or basically any hip-hop star (also guilty). It’s no coincidence that two of the ‘coolest’ nights out of my life have been in Brooklyn – one was an insanely fun, legitimate Sorority party which ended in me being called ‘snowflake’ repeatedly and rapped at on the subway home (I was one of only two white women in attendance), and the other was a bit of a rock chick soiree. There’s an energy in that borough that makes you feel alive, I swear.