such is life in the bronx.

The Husband and I headed downtown tonight, so that it would be possible for me to converse and coalesce with some actual urban hipsters of my own approximate age and background, as opposed to the, er, slightly... grittier folk that I deal with on a daily basis. It was delightful to traipse through what I like to call the Age of Eddie, as well as to down a margarita and some potato pancakes, and just kick back and remember how fun and witty I can be. (The Husband points out that I was bound to get more laughs in a group than I do here alone, because, well, there aren't many numbers less than one.)

When we got off the Hutch, the East Tremont Diner shone like a beacon above the war-torn avenue, and Marc suggested a nightcap. I was up (as I usually am) for cheese fries and chicken... and we watched the (newly registered!!) car through the window, as we were double-parked in by no less than 4 drivers. The first just parked. The second parked and climbed out with a roll of paper towels and a bottle of window cleaner, and proceeded to glass-up. Soon, his significant other climbed out to help, bringing her own bottle and towel roll into the mix. The third parked and came inside for a joe to go, and the last did the same. While a new pot brewed, number four announced he was heading outside to smoke a cigarette. At this point we were leaving, somewhat hesitant to announce our departure while we were clearly blocked, but when we arrived at the car we noticed that the spot in front of our car was vacant, allowing us to sneak out.

Upon our arrival at the homestead, I noted that the neighbor from the corner is standing guard out front, fondling a walkman while his grandmother does the gardening. At 12:45 AM. I can't say I blame him... it's the start of the first full day of summer, and the natives are restless. I can hear them screaming from the 7-11 parking lot as I type. The Bronx is hopping tonight.