Women wearing their "Sunday best", crowned with flamboyant hats engage in chit-chat while waiting for the Downtown B65. A mother drags reluctant children down the block to a storefront church. Stopped by a red light, a black Cadillac blares Gospel music as its driver belts out the lyrics, flawlessly hitting every note and key. Faithful members pack into a tiny brownstone church cozied between a Chinese restaurant and hair salon on Utica off of St. Marks.

Flipping the script on the famous question, "Where Brooklyn at?" Seriously, where is Brooklyn at? Like a monster under the bed, lurking and waiting for an opportune time is what gentrification has been to Brooklyn and its siblings...

"Aye yo miss, lemme get pork fried rice wit four chicken wings; fried hard and chopped up—ketchup, barbecue and hot sauce. Don't forget to put duck sauce in the bag! Last time you forgot!"