Sparkle City

It's a nice day to do yard work, until one yellow jacket ruined that by spiking the back of my neck. Ok, fine. I'll do the front yard instead. I have a eunomious that's turning into a wonderful arbor climber but it needs a support instead of the downspout I've let it use. So, I need 1x2's to create an arbor. Being the free market cheap bastard that I am, I went to Builder's Surplus in Central Falls to see if they had any at a cheaper price vs. Home Depot. 

Nope. They only have what they have, which means little choice. Ah well, I have to get raped by Home Depot instead. 

I haven't been to Central Falls in a long while, at least in a way that allowed me to really look around. This is probably due that I don't roam like I used to and that I had little reason to go there to begin with. 

What.a.dump. There are plenty of Dollar Stores, Fast Cash Advances, pawn shops and “get your passport here” storefronts. Couple that with plenty of food trucks, bodegas promising Columbian brand named goods and buses that make a stop every 150 feet. I guess we need a place to put our low paid, cheap labor.

Central to it all is Dexter Street, which is full of potholes, shitty patch jobs and worn from years of neglect. I liked how it made the front end of my car buck to and fro. I heard noises coming from there I haven't heard before. My car is a few hundred years old and Dexter made every bone creak in it. 

I remember Central Falls, in the 80's, being a higher class of “dump” than I found it today. Back then, we'd tool around there at times to Stanley's Grease Burger joint, (a true grease burger joint, where their french fries made paper plates translucent from the grease) a few parties and perhaps a couple of gigs at Chapter XI where my brother's band would play. CF could be fun at times. We once accidently walked into a pure Columbian bar where all the patrons turned their heads to see us ofay whities come in. No matter, they went back to their drinks and ignored us. The early 80's was when the Columbians were just starting to come in, hired as cheap labor by the Corning plant on Broad St where they made the old light bulbs. The previous immigrant group, the Portuguese, had made some bucks and moved on. 

One time after work, a little after midnight, I had a hankering for some grease and I hopped off 95 to shoot down Roosevelt to hit up Stanley's. I parked nearby and as I was walking to the restaurant, a groups of young Columbians, hanging out in a parking lot, started chanting: “Federali! Hellooo! We see you Federali!” Coming back out with my bag of burgers I was chanted at again, “Yoo hoo! Federali!” 

There I was, a white, Irish catholic 20 something in jeans and a Beach Boys striped shirt. I guess I looked out of place at midnight. But all I really wanted was a grease burger. I come to find out that the label was meant to accuse me as a narc working for the DEA. The closest I came to the DEA was when I happened to drive by the Federal court building in downtown Providence. Ah well. 

In my 20's, I wasn't skeeved out by the dumpiness of it all. Today, I was...and it was daytime too. But I'm a 50+ year old man and not some kid who thinks he can handle anything anymore. Gak..It's true! I'm wary of a lot nowadays...call it experience I guess.