An Unknown Seclusion of the Bronx, New York 10465

An Unknown Seclusion of the Bronx, New York 10465 is an essay written by Ted Phillips on or about March 27, 2005, as part of his successful application for the Rudin Scholarship at New York University. The purpose of the essay was to describe a place exemplifying New York City, i.e. Edgewater Park. The essay is provided below in its entirety.

No skyscrapers. No apartment buildings. No sidewalks. No trespassing. No police patrol. No security. No garages. No stop signs. No traffic lights. No traffic period. No restaurants. No train stations. No commerciality. No business. No regard for time or season. No "Clean Up After Your Pet" signs, so no one does. No shoes. No water pressure. No portal save for one. No more than a few feet from the water.

Where pets run amok throughout the streets, and children pay no mind to property lines, jumping and running from one yard to the next, through an intricate network of alleys and hidden streets in which one would suffer a concussion during winter months. Where dogs and cats alike welcome outsiders, trotting up and down the empty single lane streets where cars are stationed against people's fences and yet somehow they are still two-way. Where the homes are cramped together, and there is only one store, ironically called by many "The Store," or by those who remember the old days "Skippy's."

Here the Long Island Sound is literally in our backyards, where the sea wall was increased a mighty six inches to protect against storm surges after the infamous flood of '92. Here the beaches and the piers used for jumping and fishing are for residents and their guests only, who share the benefit of chilled dark foamy water often rancid with raw sewage and overrun with jellyfish and snappers. Here killies, blue claws, spider crabs, piss clams, stink crabs, seagulls, horseshoe crabs, seals, pelicans, ducks, swans, and two-foot water rats are just some of the native aquatic wildlife in the neighborhood. Here pigeons, sparrows, starlings, cardinals, blue jays, crows, bats, and el chupacabra cheep in our lush squirrel-infested forestry.

Where neighbors are neighborly by default, understanding the nature of the place, and are overall pleasant and hospitable, while new people snipe the cats with dart guns. Where six hundred seventy-five quaint houses, a deli, a dilapidated playground, and a volunteer firehouse run by drunkards fit onto thirteen acres, and where there are at least three haunted houses, two witches' houses, and a cannibal's house. Where unidentified flying objects, tornadoes, and specters ravage from time to time the streets with no names.

A place called Edgewater Park.