| "Avenue A" Oooh, daddy-yo! can you feel it? Times are new; streets are new for west of Tompskin Square Park, Lamb of Loisaida, blooming cafes, restaurants, bars and lounges in Alphabet City. A beehive of chatter. Cellphones chirping. Laptops unhatching on outdoor tables. Waitresses hosing the mouths of young artists and young professionals. First fruit of paychecks reaching priestly cooks who keep the meat burning all 24 hours. Oh, how the sacrifice of Avenue A resurrect some sanity to those present. The only avenue where beggars ask for spare change. Mmm, sweet savor--can you smell the offering?-- attracting pilgrims to our new Jerusalem where the devil graft new ways to set real estate to the moon, instead of the inferno, now that poor brown folks and poor pink folks are plucked away. Green thumb blasting musica latina in bars serving only a white clientele. But while others amp old school Madonna and old school Michael, there is, miraculously, one hip hop bar and lounge-- native to the 'hood, foreign to the Ave. All in all, the lamb--no longer turned on its back--left to bloat and explode-- has become : March madness for the world. |