The National at North Six. Acid at Coney Island. Free Pizza at the Charleston.

This was my first summer after graduating college, I had just moved to Brooklyn from Boston. I had no job, no money, and no plans for the future. And it was fucking perfect.

I was staying at my friend's warehouse squat at Myrtle and Wyckoff, which was considered deep Bushwick at the time, before it was rebranded "East Williamsburg" by estate agents. It looked like a war zone. It smelled like a war zone. It sounded like a war zone. It wasn't uncommon to be woken by gunshots, explosions, or sirens. But this night I was awake, smoking a cigarette on the fire escape, when a huge BOOOOOOM shook the block.

I turned the corner to see this SUV already fully engulfed in flames. I grabbed my Nikon F3 with a 50mm 1.2, loaded with Delta 3200. I shot half a roll before NYFD arrived, and the rest as they were goofing off and posing for the camera. Stupid sexy firemanboys. Anyway, the grittiness of this shot reminds me of that summer. Dark... sloppy... dirty.

Printed on Ilford Multi-Grade.

Edition of 50.