Astoria, Queens is a working-class immigrant neighborhood located just across the East River from Manhattan. Some of America's toughest Housing complexes like QueensBridge, Ravenswood and Astoria Projects are in the neighborhood. Bordered by the Hellgate and TriBoro bridges on the north and the QueensBoro Bridge on the South, Astoria sits cradled between these huge metal structures.

Just a 25 minute ride on the elevated train and you're in Times Square. But it's a ride many of the kids never take because Astoria is like a world onto itself. In Astoria you walk a certain way, you dress a certain way and you think a certain way. The accent is not quite as pronounced as the kids from Brooklyn, and it's not quite as hard as the kids from the Bronx. But it's there if you listen- pure Queens. Mix in ethnic accents and slang words from around the world and you've got it. And Astoria kids know how to use it.

On any hot summer night, ride the N train from Manhattan out to Ditmars Boulevard, the last stop in Astoria. Listen to the kids as you walk down the steps from the overhead train platform. You hear the way they talk, you see the way they look at each other, you feel the tension as they jockey for position on the tough streets that they call home.

Walk down to Astoria Park, circle around the pool, stroll along Shore Boulevard and sit on the grassy slope right under Hellgate Bridge. In front of you lies a narrow stretch of river where the Atlantic Ocean and the Long Island Sound meet. Twice a day the tides create a current so strong and dangerous that old-time sailors called it "The Gate To Hell. " There is a legend that a wooden sailing ship filled with gold, still sits buried in the mud at the bottom. Battered against the rocks and then dragged down by the river, she is protected in death by the ferocity of the current. Then there is the little known fact that local gangsters used this section of the river to dump cars that had more than just spare tires in the trunk... if you get my drift!! Even the Nazis work their way into the local folklore. During World War 2 they tried to blow up Hellgate Bridge because it was used to transport US troops to the docks. It seems that death has always played a role in this place.

But all that is old news right... so just sit back and enjoy the view. Like a scene out of "American Graffiti" meets "Mean Streets," watch as the locals cruise up and down Shore Boulevard in their pumped up muscle cars with the radios blaring. Boys in Italian T-shirts hang from open car windows whistling at packs of girls in tight shorts and halter tops. In the background Manhattan glistens in the night sky as the East River bends and twists the glow of every reflected dot of light in it's swiftly flowing current. With the Hellgate Bridge looming overhead and The TriBoro Bridge framing Manhattan in the distance it's actually one of the most beautiful sights you may ever see.

But in the shadow of this beauty, there is still a darker side. Right there behind you, right under Hellgate Bridge where you are sitting things are happening. See how dark it is over by the trees next to the huge arches that race skyward for a hundred feet to hold up the overhead railroad tracks of Hellgate Bridge. There in the shadows, kids silently come and go lingering only long enough to trade a few dollars for a small packet of death.

The red glow of an inhaled cigarette cuts through the darkness revealing the drawn face of one particular lost soul. In the shadows he almost looks familiar, like an old friend or the face of a distant relative. Methodically he slowly rolls up his sleeve and ties something tightly around his arm in preparation for a self-inflicted journey right out to the edge of the great abyss. Suddenly there is a cry in the darkness and the sound of someone trashing around on the ground. But the pulsing beat from the radio of a passing car drowns out the chilling sounds of life and death back in the shadows. You need to understand that here under Hellgate Bridge many young people have pushed just a little too hard towards the edge. That seems to be what a place like this is for. Beneath the towering mass of concrete and steel, they drift slowly into the darkness ready to test their body and soul. But from one bad high, from one bad bag of dope, left too pure or cut with too much poison, and they're on the last ride of their young lives, just another statistic, inside just another body bag dragged out from under Hellgate Bridge.

But enough of that. There's more to life than what goes on in the darkness, every town has a place where the lost go to play, in Astoria it's in the shadows under Hellgate Bridge.

So get up, it's time to move on. Walk east towards the elevated train up on Ditmars Boulevard and 31 street. Stop along the way for some of the best Greek food or Italian Ices or Turkish pastries that you'll ever have. Here it is safe. There is the smell of good food and couples laugh as they sit at the outdoor cafe's that line the avenue.