People Watching In Downtown

By Abel Veloz

Ariel pretends to fix a flat as he watches them walk past. He overhears gossip about a new teacher at the nearby Montessori and watches cyclists and joggers, dripped down with the latest Nike catalogue, glimmer in the dusking sun.

He doesn’t have to pretend because everyone just walks past, but he feels the need to explain why he’s there. And less of a need to explain the real reason he is there.

He wants to bellow a stretched-out “yerrrrrrr” or a “qué es la que hay, cabrón”. One that could sail across the Hudson to New York in a single breeze, but he knows he’d just sound like a crackhead to the people walking past. Instead, he takes the time to appreciate the New York skyline, considering that on this angle the Empire is still visible.

Off with the old, in with the new, he thinks to himself. For a moment, he can feel the Empire State Building’s dilemma: long-time resident forced out of sight by the newcomers that are shinier, grander, and likely backed by bigger pockets.

“Need help, brother?” a passerby says, slapping Ariel back to reality.

Ariel cringes at the word, brother. The inflection, bro-ther, and especially the person saying it. Ariel being a second-generation Boricua, two shades from trigueño. And the person, a white man molded from a Nazi cookie cutout. Tall, blonde and way too in shape.

He wishes he could reply, “I’m not your brother,” like he would’ve ten years ago, back when the luxury apartment buildings were empty lots, projects, and condemned brownstones. Yet, he bites his tongue because he wants to remain hidden. “Thanks, but I’m all about done.” He points at the tire that was never flat.

He stands up, giving the impression that he’s leaving, but he’s just waiting for that bro-ther to disappear at the waterfront’s bend.

Why does Ariel stay longer?

Even he doesn’t know.

His childhood home—which he thinks he’s parked in front of—is a wild guess. The street numbers aren’t the same. The sidewalk that he snuck his name into before the cement dried when he was ten, has been repaved with a bike lane. And the skyline has changed so much that he can’t position himself directly across Chelsea Piers like he used to as a child.

But one thing he knows for sure though…one of his scheming vecinos must have secured city-sanctioned low-income housing in one of these bitches.

Poor Ariel. He doesn’t know... his old home is actually two blocks away.

~

“Dammmmn, babe! That was a good one. Okay, okay. My turn. You see that couple across the grass near that big boulder everyone is taking pictures on?”

“The yuppies with the dog in the stroller? Shit, that dog got a better haircut than me!”

“Haha, yep. This is what they are saying…”

~

“O-M-G, Honey. That guy over there fixing his flat is so ghetto!”