A birthday post
I haven’t been out on the street late at night in a while. (The more time one has on one’s hands, the less time one tends to spend outside…) I’ll blame the weather. It’s been a longer, colder winter than I expected around here. From the summer of 2008, winter 2009 looked pretty damn good. Now that I’m here, hip-deep in chilled fecal matter, I’m literally not sure whether to run back to the sunlight of last summer or the stormy summer ahead. I know. You’re saying what the hell’s he talking about? It’s been pretty mild, mid-30’s, and we’re already into March. In that sense, you’re the guy who’s inside the house when the storm hits, man. Be happy that you got the fireplace going.
Anyway, enough with the metaphors. It’s my birthday weekend, ya know, and for the second straight year “Stopping by the woods on a snowy evening” by Robert Frost has ended up on my reading table. I’m the kinda guy who knows how to take a hint. But this is about going out and having a couple of shots on a cold Jersey City night. It’s good to see that people are still doing that.
Bought a round and had a couple bought for me. Hard Grove Café was packed with a few large parties and a lot of new faces. We can now start referring to the old and new Hard Grove, I see. I was sitting at the bar, waiting for some friends and sipping a cortadito, poured by my girl, Maricruz Chaguay, short and dark, with a little foam. She’s done it that way for 15 years. We laugh about our February birthdays. “Pipo, you met me when I was a little girl,” she says, remarking on this year’s major milestone (which I will not share with you.) A guy in from NYC orders a shot of rum for another birthday boy.
“$9.50!” he gasps, checking the bill. “In Jersey City?”
Litm, on Newark Ave., had a $5 cover, Frenchie tells me. There was a band. We were supposed to stop by there. “I’ll never pay a cover charge in this town,” I proclaim haughtily. “Not yet.” But it’s cool that they felt they could charge it, and cooler, I guess, that they could get it. Maybe, there’s something to this idea of bars on Newark Avenue. Hmmm.
My boy Pesci and his lovely Megan actually took the PATH over from NYC. (This they will not admit to their friends.) Captain Al’s Harbor Casino (excuse me, it’s just plain Harbor Casino now) in Paulus Hook, also had a crowd. Brandie Molina celebrating a birthday with her new hubby, Ed Pladdys, spinning from a Mac and sounding like he knew what he was doing.
Pesci and Megan, (who looked so much like my ex that it was a little scary) hop in a cab at the end of the night. Sweet girl, Pesh. I get into the one behind them. The driver pulls a U on Columbus Drive and heads home. On Newark and Coles, I ask the guy to let me out. I need some milk for morning coffee. Damn, it’s cold out here.
Monmouth Street at 2 a.m. is quiet and still, and now I realize my bladder’s full. I won’t make it home without a pit stop. (Damn you, Mother Nature, and your call.) No one’s out in front of the funeral home, and the alley along the 6th Street embankment is lovely, dark and deep. The stream against the wall sounds like a thousand miniature drum rolls. I close my eyes, but only for a second. I have two blocks to go before I sleep. Two blocks to go before I sleep.
