Years ago I read the book Urban Tribes.
I remembered from the book only the author’s takeaway that single people in America are forming tribes that are their own version of a chosen family not a birth family. It wasn’t that great a book except for his premise about creating a tribe of kindred spirits to stand in as a family.
A friend and I went to hear live music. I started to fall asleep on the banquette we sat on in the back of the club. Then I got a cup of water from the bar. We went outside for fresh air.
I perked up when the featured act started to perform–a fake-jet-black-haired guitarist who’d been touring for 30 years–not all at once that is over the years.
We ate in a fabulous diner at midnight. To get home we has to cross “The Boulevard of Death”–the term for a street where numerous people get run over trying to cross it every day. As I started to cross no kidding a car was speeding down the road.
My friend’s friend had run across the street to flag down a cab to take us home. We followed him like blind chickens crossing the road because we had to get to the other side.
When I was in Rome the tour guide remarked about crossing Rome’s streets: “The drivers are speedy–they’re not going to stop. Just run across the street and don’t look–just run across the street.”
I doubt that outside of New York City people jaywalk and cross the street when the light is green. People who were born in and live in New York City like I was and have do not wait for a red light to cross the street.
Only I cross the street when no car is coming my way. The drivers here are dangerous. They don’t stop at stop signs. They don’t stop for red lights and keep going through the intersection when the light is red.
I take my life in my hands crossing the street every day. No kidding.
I’ll end here with a photo of our divine lemon meringue from the diner:
Left of the Dial 