It was a good buddy who forewarned me never to voyage past the central landmark. Never go east of Comfort St. It’s run-down; saturated with the dregs of the impoverished; dangerous and tattered. “I wouldn’t go there, it isn’t safe.” I heeded his advice until this evening when, after an excruciating day, I found myself famished enough to throw caution out the roof of my convertible.
I suppose then that my shock was understandable as every driver used his signal and waved a ‘thank you’ as he passed; every tired blue collar worker walking the mile-plus journey home at dusk, sans automobile, carried a smile on his face; every patron in front of me at the local diner stuffed an unnecessary dollar in the tip jar at the take-out counter. This may not be Park Avenue, but the inhabitants welcomed me in their streets with such reassuring integrity that my conscience couldn’t help but pang from the guilt of having fallen victim to the rumours of second-hand judgment with obvious naiveté.
Poor does not equate to criminal. Shame on me for not doing my homework before avoiding a venue so enriched with joviality...and divine roast chicken.
I suppose then that my shock was understandable as every driver used his signal and waved a ‘thank you’ as he passed; every tired blue collar worker walking the mile-plus journey home at dusk, sans automobile, carried a smile on his face; every patron in front of me at the local diner stuffed an unnecessary dollar in the tip jar at the take-out counter. This may not be Park Avenue, but the inhabitants welcomed me in their streets with such reassuring integrity that my conscience couldn’t help but pang from the guilt of having fallen victim to the rumours of second-hand judgment with obvious naiveté.
Poor does not equate to criminal. Shame on me for not doing my homework before avoiding a venue so enriched with joviality...and divine roast chicken.
2 comments:
Kenny's roasted chicken?
Nah - not THAT good...
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