The Greek Tycoon's belly is a formidable one. It precedes the rest of him by about a foot as he walks along. I quite like his gruff and friendly voice, the result I guess of taking twice as many drags on his cigarette than an actual breath of air. He may or may not own the Greek social club nearby. Our interaction has never been more than a nod or a brief hello, but I hear him growling at his cronies every day.
There are two Hellenic parades a year, and how good, how truly important he looks in what must be his one and only made-to-measure suit as he stands out on the sidewalk watching with the rest of us. Imagine a Mafia boss who wouldn't hurt a fly. His pride is entirely harmless as he surveys the old street he loves, and in that we have a great deal in common.
4 comments:
Oh, oh, all of it, lovely last line.
I want a Deloney book on my nightstand.
Yes to the book idea, and you could accompany these with such great illustrations (like the belly preceding him by about a foot).
Wonderful!
(Listening to Eva Cassidy thanks to an invisible post of yours -- I didn't hear about her until she was gone, otherwise I'd have tried to see her at Blues Alley or the Birchmere.)
Loved that.
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