The Cinder Block Story

April of 2013 I was walking across the Pulaski Bridge that stretches from Queens to Brooklyn on my way home to my apartment in Greenpoint. I moved to NYC just a few months prior and was working 3 restaurant jobs at once.

I had just gotten off work, had a few drinks with some coworkers but now it was around 3 am and I was the only person walking on the bridge.

Suddenly, there was a loud noise and then the impact of what felt like a rock hitting my ankle. My tights ripped and my shoe began to fill with blood. All I could do was scream.

Seriously. What the fuck? Why?

From what I could tell, a truck passing me had somehow kicked off a rock that could have easily hit me in the head and killed me. But that realization didn’t come until later.

I limped the final 5 minutes home and did what anyone would do, I posted a few pictures to Facebook (trigger alert if you hate gore) asking “What should I do? Hospital?”

Blood

I received 8 staples to the hole in my ankle. Even though the rock missed my Achilles, I couldn’t walk for over 3 weeks.

My roommate had told me he had seen the rock that hit me on the bridge. It was a cinder block and it was still there.

Cinderblock

During that time I wrote a lot. I ate a lot of macaroni. I revised my resume. I even wrote a book I’m not sure I’ll ever share.

When I got the staples out and could walk, I nailed a job interview on the spot and was able to get an office job, which is a sweet deal when your ankle is a giant scab.

On my way home from that interview, sure enough… there sat the cinder block on the bridge. I picked it up and it’s been with me ever since. It’s in my living room right now.

To me, it symbolizes a time when you are down, but if you keep kicking ass and stay positive, you’ll never be out. Which is also the nature of comedy.

Coree Spencer
Festival Director