Another Night at the Opera

A scant ten minutes drive through from the tree lined, feather pillow i call home is the hood, of course ten minutes doesn't sound that far geographically but in reality it is more like fucking light years, you can almost tell by the shininess of the police cars that the affluence is dwindling the closer you get, it's a pie-ZAHN neighborhood but also swiftly becoming the Burgh's new Tijuana complete with street side taco stands and a Mexican grocery, a place that i venture to now and then when i need some grit, the threat of violence, the aroma of the neighborhood betties all dolled up for a trip into tahn, it's Brook-line not Brook-lyn and for that i love it... and so i stopped by the bodega run by the ever present Pakistani immigrants who besides selling lottery tickets, cigs and soda also have a rather nice selection of hookahs, bongs, pipes (both for grass and rock) and even a vaporizer, you see the old deer antler i had purchased from some friendly Native Americans at a half assed amusement park two summers back had become so clogged that even i, an expert in the cleaning of paraphernalia had given up on it and so for a mere ten bucks i acquired myself a new little piece, i didn't have to say a word, just stood by the cabinet and the old Paki woman strolled out, pointed to which side of the case i wanted opened and then wordlessly i selected, we walked back to the counter and i handed her 10 bucks (no tax) for a new glass piece that will serve my needs nicely, you see the selling of these articles is technically still taboo in my fair commonwealth, this is the place where our former half-assed Fed prosecutor sent up Tommy Chong so this money wasn't about to be taxed, hell it was like it didn't exist as it was rung in on a second register, we city dwellers past and present know how this works...

And so i hopped in the auto and headed down to see Crazy Kenny, a resident of this wonderful neighborhood and was greeted at the door with a bong and a beer, his young co-worker hammered from happy hour and slouched on the couch, frosted tipped hair and all, his Infiniti parked in the drive and i took a rip from the binger and cracked my fine American brew and sat down... Crazy Kenny is a former co-worker from the Big World Bank Machine, a guy with multiple masters degrees and completely off his fucking head most of the time, i sat and listened to his co-worker pine away for his days spent at university, myself laughing and realizing this kid must have been out of college for all of two years maybe and telling him that he's right, life only begins to suck left hind tit even more and that if i were him i'd go back as i slugged my beer and packed up the new peace pipe, i don't think he realized i was fucking laughing the whole time and taking the piss but i realize he was young and wanted to get laid and kept going on and on about the beauty from the office that he just had to fuck, i wanted to ask if she had any taste in men cuz if she did he defo had no chance but i'm not that cruel anymore and who am i to crush the hopes and dreams of young stockbrokers... and so Frosted Tips sobered up enough to drive his precision auto home and CK and i headed up the bully as they say here and to the bar...

Brook-line is not Brook-lyn, it is not inundated with hipsters and artists, it's home to a brand new makeover by some ambitious local pol, the sidewalks redone and widened to give it that family friendly feel, of course off the beaten path away from the bully and it's streetlights and nothing but steep hills and narrow brick-lined streets, it's dark back alleys used for meeting the dealer and mugging, in winter it's damn near impossible to navigate, as we wound our way towards the bully aka boulevard, CK began listing all the bars that he was currently banned from which from my count was most of them, we settled on my favorite place, a place with cheap imports all day Friday then ambled in and found a table cuz the bar was full, Ally the bartender immediately asked if i wanted a Guinness but i smiled and told her in summer i tend to go a bit lighter, the fact she remembered my drink after my not having stepped foot in the place for damn near a year is the sign of a top quality bartender in my book, she's also an attractive woman but smart enough to stay clear of the charmers which in this hood is pretty much every other Guido who walks through the door, by now CK is scouting the bar for the local purveyors of powder and badgering me to get a package but i tell him that i gave up skiing years ago and have no desire to return to the slopes, he quickly spies a supplier but judging by the look of him he decides to leave him alone, it's the usual two sides of the coke dealer coin, they are either euphoric and laughing and having a ball or (as this one was) sweating and muttering curses and looking as if they are ready to shoot someone, after a few beers and mindless chatter where CK, now well on his way, repeats the same three stories over and over, my favorite of which is about his new girl, a black girl from the hood whose brothers told him in no uncertain terms they'd like to shoot him... after a few beers i pointed at the clock, asked if CK needed a ride home and then headed to the exit..

In the car and the stereo is playing the above song and i can do nothing but laugh at how less than a decade ago i would have been well on my way to scoring that package, chasing cocaine and the loose women that come with it until all hours of the morning, those late nights spent in shitty after hours clubs or at the lock-in at the local, pouring my own beer as i stood behind the bar grinding my teeth, chain smoking cuz ciggies and blow is like chocolate and peanut butter, and now here i was, laughing at the absurdity of it all, driving slowly through the hood and watching all the action taking place on those brand new sidewalks, turning towards what i refer to as the buffer, that urban suburb that separates the hood from the lily white where i now reside, the window down and the music playing, driving like a grand-daddy to avoid any unwanted attention from the boys in blue, those days of not so long ago like some surreal dream, part nightmare part beautiful fantasy, me sitting on the other side of it, heading towards a quiet tree-lined street well before midnight so i can sit and watch the highlights with a bowl of Rice Crispies, the man still needs to wander now and then but it's not like some mission he's on, not like in his youth, now it's more to remind and refresh, odd how it still feels like home but at the same time it feels like being a tourist, like another night at the opera, let us waste the days away....