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manufacturers live in the Village; it's no longer for the artists --
it's too expensive for the artists. And the people -- we're
now talking about blacks who come on week-ends primarily -- are
looking for trouble. I mean they are tough. They have turned
the park into, as I've referred to in my correspondence with
Captain Fortune of the 6th Precinct, the largest open-air casino
in the world. They'll be in groups of ten or 15, very toughlooking.
It's hard for me to describe it. Their clothing,
their earrings (I'm talking about the males), the machismo that
comes out of it: it's an incredible, threatening experience.
I had an experience not very long ago which bothered me.
I was walking through Washington Square Park on Thanksgiving
Day, the day that I described that incident over on 8th Street
and 6th Avenue, the guy pissing into the street. But just subsequent
to that as I'm walking through the park to go over
to Mary Nichols', who lives in University Towers just
south of the park, I'm walking through and there is a group of
about ten black guys standing near the southern part of the
park at Thompson Street. There is a young white woman in her
late twenties, and a black guy sort of dressed like a pimp (by
that I mean in one of those pimp-type hats, as it's become
known -- a large fedora) is standing in front of her walking
backwards, so to speak, as she's trying to walk. It's clear
that he's kind of sweet-talking her, if that's the language.
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