Imperfection - Maria Robinson

Martha sipped a cuban coffee at Velasquez Cafe in Brooklyn. Stumbling out of the subway and up the stairs, the hurtling ride from Manhattan always felt like crossing a rough sea. Brooklyn had become her hideout, her London, a place as irregular as the City was regular. It was the perfection of the brewed Cafe bustelo, the blue corn mexican tortillas at Maria's, the brick ovens and baby greens filled restaurants, channeling San Francisco. she was drawn to the people, all of the expressionist New Yorkers who could create their own micro neighborhoods. What she was really looking for was another chance, another love. she knew she'd be unable to move to Brooklyn, leave the stability of the her mother's arrangements which included the care and education of her two young children. But something had to give from the perfect reconstruction of her life after her divorce.