Brooklyn continues to amaze me. Last night, Union Worker and I were out for a drink. (I try not to think about how many of my stories involve some variation on this theme.) In the corner, I saw my local sandwich guy -- he runs an amazing deli directly across the street from my apartment, where about 4 times a week I go to get tuna salad sandwiches, stuffed peppers, lasagna, chocolate cannoli, sour cream potato salad -- you get the idea. After a few minutes, he comes over to the table and for the next three hours, four of us guys (another friend joined in) talked nonstop about living in New York.
Deli Man has a unique perspective on the area -- he certainly sees more people in it than I do, given his job -- and he told us about all kinds of stock characters taken directly from the pages of a sentimental Brooklyn-centric novel, except they are from real life. In between stories of his Uncle Sal, old women in housecoats, ladies "running numbers" in back rooms of their shops, and gruff firemen with hearts of gold, we talked about how he has known my landlady for years and used to show off her apartments (i.e., my apartment) to prospective tenants as a favor to her. My sandwich guy knows my landlady. That feeling, that interconnectedness, where people sit on stoops and fire escapes and actually (gasp) know their neighbors is virtually unheard of back in Colorado. THAT is why I love this city. THAT is why this is home.