Free, Johnny went to AC, mastered several table games, worked at casinos, bought a condo and, predictably, snatched a stunning, loving girlfriend. The suave, mustachioed playa had to make up for all those repulsive nights in Philly! Just thank God you never had to prostitute to become an American. After a while, though, Johnny also gave his lover the heave-ho, for it was time to return to Syria to find a traditional, virgin bride half his age.
Now, we come to this metal shack of hope, for all day long, fools will petition, against all odds, to be transposed to a much sweeter arrangement. "Mr. or Mrs. Hindu, please save my ass." The lottery ticket-dispensing couple are recent immigrants, with the husband also working at Dunkin' Donuts, and the wife, Subway. Robert, not his birth name, has never drank a drop and only ducks into Friendly to deliver lottery tickets, cigarettes or use the bathroom.
Tilt your head and you'll see, inside the hope shack, 74-year-old Angelo. No employee, he's just there for its space heater, for it's 20 degrees outside. Each night for the last five years, Angelo slept inside a rusty lemon, with the engine running in winter, but last week, the groggy Calabrian crashed his mini home on wheels. Luckily, no one died. After selling the wreck for a 100 bucks, Angelo couldn't help but head straight for the off-track betting parlor. Till death, he'll insist that some galloping mare will solve all his problems.
At 9th and Ernest, there was the Italian American Laborers Social Club. Reacting to Mexicans moving into the neighborhood, it posted two small signs out front, "ALAMO MEMBERS ONLY PRIVATE CLUB," then it sold itself to, what else, a Mexican business.
Just off 9th Street lives an indolent young man who spends his days half-watching movies or porn. In summer, he sometimes waxes his Porsche, which is practically brand new, for it's almost never used. There is no place Nick has or wants to go. Though with the same woman for six years, he's never hinted at marriage, and she lets it slide for fear of being ditched. Petite, Tina suffers in silence and shops for Nick each week. How many times have I seen the still pretty lady carry all those heavy bags up to the second floor by herself? Nick's father, an immigrant from Sicily, is a 71-year-old doctor who still works each day and owns several houses. Naturally, he hires Mexicans to fix them up.
Though it wasn't too long of a walk, it's very cold out, so let's stop at George's for a pork or tripe sandwich. Notice the witticism on the sign, "Don't divorce your wife because she can't cook. Eat here and keep her as a pet." Now, that's old school.
For over a century, the Italian Market has absorbed waves of immigrants, but there's a group that's causing everybody tremendous anxiety. Wealthy Chinese have plans to develop several large plots into condos and upscale shopping centers. Already, most folks who work in the Italian Market can't afford to live here.
To most people, immigrants imply destitute illegals and desperate refugees, but the super wealthy are also coming. If they target your city, you can quickly be priced out of your home. Just think of London, Sidney, Auckland, Vancouver or the San Francisco Bay Area. Advocating for open borders, the nose-ringed crowd don't know they're hankering to be homeless, and not just underpaid.
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