On radiant, sunlit afternoons, Wilma Atwell – or “Bee,” as she’s known in her neighborhood – likes to go out in front of her colonial-style house and water her garden.
“It’s so nice here,” she said. “I’ve been living here 21, 22 years. I love it.”
Eleven blocks west and 14 blocks north of Atwell’s “farm house,” as she likes to call it, a man dressed head-to-toe in black rifles through a plastic trash bag, four feet long and stuffed with the castoffs of the college students that live in an adjacent building.
Bullets fly in Bed-Stuy
Like any three-year-old, Jayla Taylor has a fondness for candy. But an evening trip to fulfill her craving at a Brooklyn candy store a week ago nearly ended her life.