Charcoal & wood smoke from the two grills drift past fourth wave barista driven coffee concepts – the strange smell of country in a city setting – soundtracked by the regular clickclack of the M Train. The hooptie picnic table – left by a previous tenant – is tenuous at best but still serves it purpose. The vegan upstairs neighbor slams their window shut as the meat fat drips and sizzles on open flame. A stray cat – a regular visitor – drops by hoping something falls into the unmowed grass. The sun sets – no stars due to street lights. You hope porch & party lights will keep unwanted nocturnal guests at bay.
By the end of the evening, you’ll be well fed and smelling of smoke.
Welcome to the Bushwick Grill Club.