This article was published in Scientific American’s former blog network and reflects the views of the author, not necessarily those of Scientific American
This post is part of a collaborative narrative series composed of my writing and Chris Arnade's photos exploring issues of addiction, poverty, prostitution and urban anthropology in Hunts Point, Bronx. For more on the series, look here.
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Iron Man: Hunts Point, Bronx. Courtesy of Chris Arnade.
The other side of Hunts Point, the industry where produce like avocados and bananas is packed into trucks, is a space that houses more auto parts than people. The air is never devoid of rumble.
People from the residential side drift here for heroin when times get lean, when the 5 a.m. corner drug dealer is absent.
Iron Man: Hunts Point, Bronx. Courtesy of Chris Arnade.
It is here that Iron Man pushes his cart, fills it with pallets or metal pieces or other found things. He's always pushing, pushing and telling what happened before.
In the beginning, he was born in South Carolina to a 12-year-old mom. Then, it went different ways.
Once, Iron Man served in the army, where he first dabbled in drugs. Once, he did crack. Something happened, so the government still refuses to pay the pension. Once that's taken care of, he won't be homeless.
Once, Iron Man was a unicyclist, rode his cycle up and down the street for all the world to see. Kids would shout and want to ride on his shoulders. He can drive anything with wheels, carts and bikes that sometimes look like other people's.
Once, Iron Man played basketball, against the Harlem Globetrotters even. Once, he rode a bus with them that broke down. Those were the glory days, couldn't do drugs then. He was self-cured of dependency.
Once, Iron Man recorded a rap album called Cinderfella.
Now, Iron Man pushes his cart, does 100 chin-ups each day, stays clean.
Iron Man: Hunts Point, Bronx. Courtesy of Chris Arnade.
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More Hunts Point Addiction Writing
Chris Arnade's Photos and his Facebook feed
