Sightseeing

On the five-hundred block of South Sixth Street, we get the best of both worlds. 


Walk south and we run into South Street--famous for nightlife, restaurants, hip shops, and tourists. The sidewalks are always busy with a mosaic of pedestrians, vendors, and street musicians. Even the restaurants need bouncers late at night on South Street.


On Friday and Saturday nights after the bars close, you can usually count on a domestic dispute or two (often incited by the arrival of a tow truck), a handful of people using alleys as receptacles for the release of various bodily fluids, and a confetti-like sprinkling of discarded, greasy paper plates and other trash along the street and sidewalk.


But when you head north on Sixth Street, after a few blocks you're greeted with red brick roads, horse-drawn carriages, and lush, green parks full of people reading, relaxing, walking. The shady, winding pathways of Washington Square are a tranquil refuge in the eye of a storm of city traffic and turmoil. There are no signs posted, but there is an unspoken agreement to maintain the serenity among the habitués.


There's nothing particularly special about our block itself, other than being the dividing line between two parallel universes. We live next to a computer repair shop, a dumpy take-out pizzeria, and across the street from a gated, community park with basketball courts and a children's playground.


A couple nights ago, however, things got a little exciting.


Around 1, Jason stepped out on the front stoop for a smoke. Even though the park closes at dusk, the streetlights made two intruders quite visible. They were sitting on a bench just a few feet from the street. Exchanging sexual favors.


A male passerby stopped dead in his tracks for a few moments to view the spectacle. He eventually walked on,  but not before glancing across the street to see Jason, and flashing him a big thumbs-up.


Never one to leave a guy hanging, Jason returned the gesture with a grin.