Frank's Field notebook 09/17

This space is now empty but to the resident of 116th street is a landmark that people can't seem to forget or get over. 

The fall weather has arrived and the cool breeze forces us to add an extra layer to our clothing. It's Saturday and I am heading to my girlfriend house to take her out. Like most females she is not ready by the time we had agreed so I decide to do my assignment so I sit in front of her building and analyze everything and everyone around me. East Harlem is not part of New York City, it seems like it's own town. I walk from Lexington to 116^th street and I see a young lady with two kids by her sides with a bin filled with suit bread, mainly known as Mexican bread. The bread does looks enticing with its roundish shape and colorful topping. The lady catches me looking at the bread and tells me "dos por un dolar", I shake my head gently and continue walking. I then see the different amount of people walking down the hill as I walk up. The Dominicans coming out of the barber shop singing bachata and sipping on their Hennessey beers. One of them about 5'7 with curly hair and dancing slowly with his hands hugging his belly. He smiles as he speaks with one of his coworkers and I notice he has blue braces on. A Puerto Rican approaches them and gives them a pound. Apparently he is a customer and his Puerto Rican flag tatted on his arm is clear his is Puerto Rican. He has a thick accent and speaks the famous "Spanglish". I finally reach my girlfriend building and I sit in front. I hear a strong roar and realize it's the metro north rushing pass as it approaches the 125^th street station. The liquor store in the corner has many interesting people coming out of it. The African American comes out with her friend and are dress in promiscuous clothing. I stand from the front step and start heading towards the corner store to get myself a drink but realize it is closed then it hits me that not long ago a gas explosion occurred down the block from the store. I walk over to see how much damaged the explosion had done but one cannot tell. The space is very empty and if I was a tourist I couldn't tell that an explosion had occurred there. There's nothing, everything that was once there is no longer there. It looks like an empty space in New York City; more like a backyard to the adjacent building. It has me thinking about the people who died that morning. The fear my girlfriend encountered, the flames that burned in this space, and the chaos it erupted makes me think of how much such a small space can cause so many things at once. 116^th street is different than a 115^th street or 117^th street, it's a street where every different ethnic can be found. It's a street with million different faces and stories behind them.