POSTCARD FROM THE SLOPE_by Louise G. Crawford

4282858_stdSeventh Avenue after midnight: dark, quiet, even a little forbidding. 

At Santa Fe,  the busboys wash down tables while the bar stays semi-full with singles and lonely men; big baskets of tortilla chips on the counter.

Two Boots  is childless; free of flying pizza dough, mismanaged toddlers, parents soused on one too many margaritas. TV on, an easy crowd gathers at the friendly bartender’s bar. Talk about politics, sports, sex, moves seamlessly from one end of the amoemba-shaped bar to the other.

Walking home from writers group and drinks after,  I venture through the dark Slope Streets.

The smokers stand outside of Snookys, the old-time slope sports bar between President and Carroll. A man, coatless and drunk, looks like he might not make it home. Inside, a woman makes out with the bartender, her belly flat on the bar.

Late shift shoppers at Key Food avoid the daytime crowds. But there’s usually only one cash register open and a long line just the same. At the Korean on Garfield, a man buys a big can of Fosters Ale and Scott toilet paper.  The scholarly homeless man sits near Starbucks, which was closed for the night. In his worn-out preppy clothing, he has a thoughtful face and the gait of someone who’s been in and out of mental institutions.Last night he was studiously working on math problems in a text book. Usually, he’s tackling heavy, existentialist tomes.

Ironically, it’s spooky going past PS 321 at night, where people get stoned under the playground equipment or on the dark steps. In front of the newstand between 2nd and 3rd Streets, one of Arabic boys who works there packs up the daily papers and brings the low newspaper tables in.

Turning the corner on Third Street, I am cautious and alert, making sure that no-one is  following me. Some nights  I pass a dog walker or young revellers walking home from the beer pub on Fifth Avenue. Often, it’s me alone, peeking inside television-lit rooms that face the street. I usually cell phone my husband and ask him to wait on our steps; it makes me feel better just to know that he’s there.