Night is when the lone wolf howls. Night is when the mist rolls in. Night is when the freaks, ever fearful of the sun's rays, make their long awaited appearance. Night is when the glitterati throw confetti at the paparazzi on the piazza.
At the heart of these displays of darkness is the Brooklyn Night Bazaar. Fully stocked with more fun than you could shake a live eel at, the bazaar is reminiscent of your first night in Istanbul, aged 18, slightly drunk on ouzo, reeling with delight in the world that you didn't have a care in. Between various vendors, aggregate epicureans, recreational revelers, myriad musicians, and a phalanx of fans, the Brooklyn Night Bazaar captures the essence of an eastern shuk dressed in the sheen hip of a borough rave.
On the web: