Is BROOKLYN in the House? Hit the JUMP for the pics, video and full interview…
Outside her apartment, on the cold and dusky streets down under the Manhattan Bridge overpass, Brooklyn Decker, wrapped up just a bit too tight against the wind, gives a weak, unconvinced handshake. It has the feel of a first handshake, the kind you give early in your handshaking life, when you can’t figure why anyone would want to meet you. When we start walking the tilt of the hill down to the high-end grocery store near her place, she widens her eyes, so blue they seem backlit, and admits, “I’m not sure what you can say about me yet.”
Maybe it’s just the time and place, some play on the obvious trope. Like Brooklyn in Brooklyn. Brooklyn Decker lives inside her name. So much Brooklyn.
“Yeah, yeah,” she says. She’s heard it before. I can do better than that, I tell her. I don’t want to disappoint. Just give me some time. Half a block later, we’re at the market. The scale of Brooklyn surprises. She is so tall, for starters.