Street Vendor

I was walking down on 4th Avenue in Brooklyn. Had just gotten off on the 36th Street Station. I saw my favorite street vendor on his usual spot. The guy and his daughter, who looks about eighteen, appear on the corner every Thursday, Friday and Saturday night. Their street cart barely fits two people, has two stoves, and a plastic glass window that slides shut during particularly cold nights.

In the summer, group of Mexicans would pull out folding chairs or sit on the sidewalk in front of the car and talk till late evening. Something of an improvised barbeque. The cart is parked next to a large van, which is accommodated for living. You can hear the sound of a TV set, and occasionally a young boy would pop his head through the sliding doors. Perhaps the street vendor's other child.

Food is OK. It fits the taste of the Sunset Park Hispanic population. I first fell in love with it, after a drunken night. I was hungry and short on money - the sight of the street cart was magical. After this I always had to stop in some ungodly drunken hour, and had my favorite - 3 pork skewers with mayo and mustard. The street vendor eventually got to recognize me. On several occasions, blinded by my hunger, I would drag myself and sit on the pavement in front of his cart, he would see me and make my usual without even asking.

Tonight however, I didn't feel like pork skewers. I wanted McDonalds. McDonalds is on the next block from the vendor. I grabbed my order and I circled the block instead of going straight past the vendor. I didn't want him to see my McDonalds meal. Not that his food is much healthier, I just don't want to loose the unspoken drunken nights bond we have.