The Business of Other People's Business... Monday, April 8

Six degrees of separation, the notion that we’re all ultimately connected via six people or less. One degree is more like what’s going on down by our boxing club. I think all the shop owners and workers in the area are connected via one person – the Corner Godfather. The Corner Godfather sells chicken-on-a-stick and sausages beside our boxing club in a shady-looking corner food tent but he lives in a cool penthouse apartment across the street. He knows everyone and everyone’s business, I’m convinced of it. He was the one who initially told me all about our “tenant” and how long he’s been living in our building. He knew exactly whose car was parked in our spot today and when they parked – “6:20am”, he told me. He is certainly the “eyes” of our “hood”. Snickers is convinced that perhaps he knows everyone just like everyone knows everyone else because nothing happens here. We are the newest thing to happen to that area for years.

Coolio, the shoe seller beside our building that thinks he’s all smooth with the ladies, seems to be under the impression that I’m some kind of sugar mama, especially now that he knows my husband is four years younger than me. He watched me today as I tried to give milk to Ginja, aka Ginger-the-Ninja, a street cat I’ve kind of befriended, then joked later saying that if I have money to buy milk for a street cat I surely can afford to pay someone to board up the broken window at the back. Milk and a broken window clearly have two totally different price tags. The milk was actually given to me. I ended up boarded up the window myself -- almost took out a couple of fingers and an eye too doing so, nailing into concrete… woozers.

The shop owners around our boxing club are a strange crew who are overly curious about us but strangely amusing. Beyond the Corner Godfather, there’s Frenchie, the guy who doesn’t quite know how to wear his French-looking hat thingy and will stand there for what feels like hours watching us work. Then there’s Ozzie-Odd-Ball, a slinky-looking character who has yet to really talk to me but he has snuck a couple of pictures of me while I’ve been working. I tried to talk to him today when he snapped a second picture of me but he gave a little chunkle and scurried off – definitely fitting into his nickname apparently. Every day I've seen them one-by-one leave their shops empty and gather by the park benches.

Today, as I watched the electrician crew load up their truck with all the light fixtures, an olderman who had been circling our club today asked for some wiring. For the most part, there wasn’t much wiring actually because of the homeless people who had ripped it out and sold it off. The electrician this older man had asked said no and then the Corner Godfather yelled something at him. I couldn’t make out what he had said but it couldn’t have been nice because the older man instantly turned and walked away like a dog with its tail between its legs. I really didn’t know what the electricians were going to do with what little wiring they had but surely they could give the man some so I yelled out to them and I didn’t appreciate the rudeness that was shown him.

“That’s actually my wire” I yelled out, “so please give him some of MY wire.”

The old man with the cart smiled back, Frenchie shook his head, Coolio walked away and I’m sure the Corner Godfather stood there frowning from his chicken tent. “They’re not going to like you if you yell at them”, Snickers told me. “Oh please, what are they going to do? Hit me with chicken sticks?! Bring it to the ring!”