She had the squid and I opted for the duck. Sarah and I, dining out on Crash Street.
You couldn’t see through the windows in there; they were blacked out and re-enforced with steel grills. To be honest, it was pretty dangerous just to walk down the street, but the food was good and the restaurateur knew it.
So, he benefits from cheap rent, we benefit from cheap cuisine and all anyone has to do to enjoy the benefits, to reap the salty rewards, is avoid the guys playing chicken on the road outside.
Everyone new to the town, we tell them: ‘grab a bite at Hong King Kong’s and then go for a drink at The Strange.’ People from outside don’t know what’s hit them, but they catch on pretty quick.
I followed one of them, you could tell he wasn’t from round here. He asked me the way to Crash Street. I told him and then dawdled some way behind.
They stand there, just stand there gawping at Crash Street. Where do they go from here? That’s what they’re trying to work out. There’s busted up motors lining both sides of the street. Some scrap-collector might be there, making fast money. All the shops, all the bars, all the restaurants are boarded up. But they’re open. They all have a sign on them saying “Welcome”; “Come inside”, “We are open!”, “Half-price on everything!!”.
It’s a great street really, but get there either before three or after five, because there’s a lot of boys meeting between those times and they’re looking to get pretty messed up.
Still, some people have just gotta eat, or drink, or get a cheap sofa during those hours. Some people’ll walk their kids home from school that way. You see it all the time.
We’re a defiant bunch. We accept things the way things are. Why do anything about it? Crash Street wouldn’t be so cheap if it was safe. Wouldn’t be so special.
And the duck. The duck is out of this world!
-----
This post is a continuation of ideas that began with the following tale: Drinking in The Strange.
9 comments:
Kinda like down town Kingston. Welcome to Jamrock, camp where the thugs them camp at, two pounds of weed in a van back (translated from Jamaican patois in Welcome to Jamrock by Damian Junior Gong Marley).
You didn't like all of Floetry? Awww. None of them closest friends are crazy about Floetry...you didn't like Hey You? Say Yes was the song that made me know them. But it's not my favourite.
2) The poem is about a stalker. Stalkers are usually desperate and unrelenting individuals...that's it.
Wups. None of my closest friends I mean.
Now that's a creative setting.
Seriously, have you ever considered getting your short stories published in some sort of periodical? This could go in as is (though I don't know much about their requirements for length).
It was entertaining, but it could have been taken a little further.... had me wondering more about the place. Enjoyed!
Hi Aleta,
If you want to know more about the place - check out Drinking in the Strange.
Sheik Yerbouti - any suggestions for periodical submissions, gladly welcomed...
Hi,
You can create atmosphere nicely. I did check out DRINKING AT THE STRANGE. A story needn't always be an event, need it? This one just IS, it doesn't HAPPEN...I like that.
Thanks for your wonderful compliments on my pond-post. Coming from you, they mean a LOT. I am both a mother and a teacher, so the comforting tone is natural, I guess. I have never really published anything, though, of course, I would love to do so.
Have a great weekend and be back with your amazing Scheherazade-storehouse of stories.
this may be the first time i read a tale of yours that had such rich imagery :) and the language is charming (sorry, that's the only word i could find ^^;). i liked that line, "...wouldn't be so cheap if it was safe." encapsulated the entire piece in one sentence. :)
the last line reminds me of an o. henry story that ended with, "i wonder what's happening in ohio!" (i don't remember the title of the story or the exact words of that line, but i remember that the story had a character named azalea adair :) you probably know that story.)
Nice work Paul ... Great atmosphere :-)
Post a Comment