Community, Capiche?

From sundown through twilight to nightfall, I sat in the Bamonte's parking lot, chatting with Nick, his nephew Max, and the Italians who live and used to live in the neighborhood. Jimmy T was singing Sinatra at the restaurant, while sons and daughters now in Jersey and Long Island were back with dogs and flip flops, jewelry and big cars to visit parents, eat homemade meatballs, and see the Giglio lifted once again. Nicky blasting Dean Martin (born Dino Paul Crocetti), drinking beer. Max telling me about being a ninth grader. Me sitting on a milk crate, watching the stray cats, lit clouds. Feeling lucky.