The night walk

The night walk

It's 1 AM. Every night is a different cab. Sometimes one of my coworkers comes down with me, to get a coffee or to go home also. Usually it's to the 7-11 first, for him to juggle three beer bottles (2 high alcohol and 1 low, 2 shots and chaser, kind of) and me to buy coffee and oatmeal for brekkers the next day. Since things come in packages of 1 over here, I have to buy my supplies every day. If I forget, it's soda left over from the weekend, vitamins, and whatever's in the ref for breakfast.

After we say our goodbyes, I get in the cab. It's always a crapshoot- there is no "perfect cab"-- it's always something. Either the unnerving smell of beer (I hope it's left by the previous occupant), the door handle doesn't work, the driver just emerged from 100 year sleep to be hustled into a cab and told to "go for it", the radio's on the god awful talk station, or jackpot! All of the above. Once in a while you'll get a cool guy, and a decent cab and then it's not so bad, after all. Not Christmas in the Poconos, but not some kind of punishment either.

The streets are actually quiet at that hour (which is very rare) so as we slide along, over the river on the raised highway, I'm taking pictures in my mind, planning the next day, daydreaming, wondering about my friends, wishing I would get something more than wild sparks and teasing from "him", or replaying and winning a five year old argument in my mind.

Drop off at McDonald's to get dinner. Get dinner, and start the walk home. Usually it's just me, the ladies in front of "The Joke Box", sleepy guards, a group of teenage guys who think they're so fly that they just said "hi" and then fell to the ground laughing with nerves and relief that they tried it, and the animals.

In contrast to the US, where 5-6 ish at night is "the catting hour" as Jessica puts it, where cats come out to lounge, survey the kingdom, and roll around on the warm sidewalks that have gathered heat all day and now release it into the waiting fur coats of it's rightful owner, the catting hour here is midnight. Slinky, rough, these are no Aristocats, but they still rule the roost. They're scared of humans, and they have bobbed tails due to a genetic malformation that curls the tail into a figure 8 knot over the shanks, or leaves no tail at all. Last time I was walking, a white cat with big yellow eyes was sniffing a puddle so I put some fries on the ground, while the cat nervously backed away and gave me the stink eye. But he came back to check them out after I was gone.

One can see all the fruit stands, covered for the night, and the neighborhood homeless (?- not quite sure what's going on with this guy)guy is at work, asleep in his wooden army cot/ sling thingie that he sleeps in, under a store front awning or benign house front, every night. He is very thin, and very quiet, and one can see him sitting in his sling, taking it all in, most days. 

Dogs are around, making the rounds but not bothering anyone, just hanging on the stoop.

When I get to my place, the door guy buzzes me in, while his friend, who's laying on the fold out couch that they take turns sleeping on, rouses just a bit to say hello. The job of the door guy is very similar to that of Victorian England's "hall boy"-- you sleep next to a bell that, if ringing, you have to get up and answer. In contrast to the lottery that is cabs, door guy is pretty much always the same-- civil without being friendly, all business without being rude. Woken Up Friend is usually much nicer. "HI!" He crows before collapsing back to "bed".

Then it's upstairs to the 3rd floor, lights on, air con on, TV on, shower, then bed. Then wake up and face it all over again.