These Times They Are A Changin'

      In my thoughtful little neighborhood not a lot changes and I think that’s why I like it. The guy who owns the corner store down the block has been the same owner since the store opened fifteen years ago. The family who owns the dry cleaners next door to my apartment all know my name though I’ve only officially met one of them. Perhaps a new restaurant will open up in an unused building but we all know they won’t last. Two have opened up in the last three months: one is an Italian wine bar and restaurant so dark that you can’t even read the menu, the other is a French cuisine lounge filled with finger-food and top-shelf vodka.

       The owners stand outside of their new establishments handing out hologram business cards where you can’t even read the name or address of the restaurant. In my opinion these places won’t last, especially when you have three iconic Irish pubs less than a block from you. They simply just don’t fit in. They belong in the meatpacking district or even better: in Italy and France. The demo that takes up the neighborhood has high expectations: we don’t need romantic candlelight, goblets of merlot from Tuscany, or over anxious euro techno music to lure is into a bar. Give us shotty florescent lights, a rude bartender pouring us a six-dollar pint and a wobbly bar stool we can call our own for a couple hours.

      With that said, I think there’s a new homeless person wandering around. There was only one before, and I’ve known about him since the first day I moved in. He sits on different stoops up and down First Ave. saying one phrase and one phrase only: Please be kind to human kind. That’s it. He doesn’t even ask for money, which is pretty refreshing. I haven’t seen him in a couple weeks and today I actually saw a new homeless man. He was walking down the sidewalk with a large shopping cart covered with a black tarp. And he was asking for money. I’m not sure what happened. But the only thing I can reasonably come up with is that there was some kind of battle to gain the territory of First Ave. between 57th and 68th street that I just didn’t hear about somehow. And the previous homeless man clearly lost. Maybe he got moved downtown, or worse…uptown.

      I picture that the contest was intense yet simple. It probably included events like an egg toss (not boiled of course), a timed penny spinning competition (had to ask for one clearly) and some kind of belting or speech trial. Now I haven’t heard what the new homeless man’s mantra is but I honestly don’t know what can beat Please be kind to human kind. Unless he has a harmonica or throws in a second line in there then I don’t know what else could’ve made him the winner. I may need to talk to the MTA bus driver or the late-night shift Starbucks worker, or whoever judged this competition because so far I think there was some serious fowl play. I’ll keep you updated, obviously.