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Sydney Green has spent nearly all of her life in Gifford Place, a brownstone-lined block in Brooklyn. Cranes loomed ominously over the surrounding blocks like invaders from an alien movie, mantis-like shadows with red eyes blinking against the night, the American flags attached to them flapping darkly in the wind, signaling that they came in peace when really they were here to destroy. When I’d clambered up there as an adult, alone, I’d been struck by how claustrophobic the view looked, with new buildings filling the neighborhoods around where there had once been open air. Brooklyn sprawling around us as fireworks burst in the distance. When I was a teenager, Mommy and Drea and I would picnic on the roof every Fourth of July.
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