That stretch of Allens Avenue beneath the new highway overpasses enchants me. It is one of those places that defies two-dimensional representation, with its sweeping, snaking vistas and monumental emptiness.
Normally, elevated transit lines are bad news for the neighborhoods below. Broadway between 137th and 125th in Harlem, where the 1 train rises above ground, is spooky and depressed. Jerome Avenue in the Bronx is a wasteland of auto repair shops and gas stations.
Allens Avenue is just plain desolate, now as before the new overpasses arose. They are not to blame, and in fact I think lend drama to that quarter mile or so between downtown and the red light district. Like the interior architecture of a French Gothic cathedral, they draw the eye upward, but instead of resting on chipping frescoes, the eye meets the moon.
I propose an outdoor flea market there, under the overpasses. Or a flock of sheep that feeds on the grass beside the highway.
