Alleyway

What was the name of that bar at the corner of Clinton and Goodman? Was it a foofy joint or a dive bar? And what’s the difference? The comfort of the seating, the quality of the decor of course; and the prices of the drinks no doubt. I guess it’s about whatever environment one feels most comfortable in. I’ve always been someone who meanders back and forth and can be comfortable in either setting. If you have a sense of belonging to carry with you then that certainly helps, although the patrons of each establishment will most likely decide for themselves whether you’re one of them or not. My ideal business plan is to have a central kitchen and pantry with a dive bar on one side and a foofy joint on the other side, serving the same food and drinks to each clientele at vastly different prices, with just a modicum of variation in the presentation to make each side authentic and valid and comfortable to those who choose to come in.

The breakfast sandwich in the dive bar will be real basic: bacon egg and cheese on a bagel, something like that. And we’ll serve the same thing out the other side, just put a sprig of fresh parsley and a dollop of Harissa on it and charge three times more. Everybody’s happy. We’ll do the same thing with the drinks, of course. We’ll do our best to keep our little arrangement secret. Folks going in the fancy place on Clinton Avenue would never step foot onto Goodman Street, so they’ll have no idea that there is another side to their story so to speak. We want everybody to be comfortable and that’s what everyone wants for themselves anyway: to be comfortable. So we have alignment in our goals and objectives. Only those few out of the rabble, the ones that can be both fancy and lowbrow, they will catch on and learn to come into either side whenever it suits their fancy. Me and the staff will be back in the kitchen and pantry located on the alley with a rooftop garden and apiary, a freshwater spring down below, rain barrels with tubes leading directly down to the kitchen and bar.

The alley is a safe place. It’s comfortable; ideal for people too shy to live on the street. If your house or apartment building is on the street, as most of them are, then your front door and windows, even anything you may have outside in the yard, God forbid, are out there for all to see! One might feel so uncomfortably exposed living like that. But in the alley, you can do all sorts of things undercover, as you live behind everyone else and not too many people care to come down the alley. Larry didn’t live on the alley, but he spent all his time back there fixing old cars and playing his squeaky harmonica, dressed in his smelly oil-stained mechanics jumpsuit, his unwashed hair and crooked glasses perched above his partially shaven face, his dog Mongrel laying down comfortably in the gravel, the mangiest dog you’ve ever seen. Larry was happy there and so was I. I liked to take photographs of old door knobs and the strange angles of the power cables framed against the bright blue sky of springtime as the thunder clouds moved in from the west and the wind picked up and blew the dust down the alley.