Words Create Worlds
There’s a small building with a black awning on 3rd Street in the Lower East Side. You’d think nothing of it if it wasn’t for the elaborate paintings that cover the front wall, making a stark divide from the brick facades surrounding it.
If you happened to wander inside this building on a Friday night, you’d find yourself in a small crowded brick room. The lights would be dimmed, the bar packed, and people of every age and background pushing their way towards a small platform that sits against the side wall. Large portraits hang askew across the brick wall. An energy pulsates through the room. They say there is no other place in the world where people line the streets outside on a Friday night to watch poetry. But at the Nuyorican Poets Cafe, this is a normal Friday.
