a slightly whimsical look at an urban corner at night through a childs eye.
It is my night to sit with Grandma so as usual I take up my position in the corner chair that is next to her corner window.
Traffic ebbs and flows as the night slowly corners the market and darkens the outdoors. The corner of the street slowly comes into life even as the day traffic is cornered and stuck away until it too can corner the darkness and become one with the sun.
The street is so alive. Alive with the corner drug dealers and the corner thug want to bees just waiting to sting their first victims.
First it’s the true addicts, the ones who need that daily fix that has cornered their lives and made them victims of its deadly sting.
Then along comes Johnny Suburban, in his nice shiny SUV still in his suit and tie, hoping to score a little ganja so mama and him can maybe relax a little from the pressures of being cornered in the corner cubicles that they both work from.
Look and see how fast they run into their little white bread neighborhoods.
Lastly we see the corner female workers of the night, hoping Johnny will come back so that they too can corner part of his hard gained dinero without which the corner pimp cannot function within his role as peacekeeper amongst the corner female workers.
Then as I sit watching the ebb and flow I see something unusual,it is one of the City Police cars, what is it doing here?
Did someone summon it?
Or did something happen that is just outside of my field of vision, somewhere other than on the corner?
I scramble to get out of my corner chair, I hastily throw a coat over my shoulder and open the window unto the fire escape that is located at the other corner of the street.
There, where the police cruiser sits!
The police look busy on that corner as they arrest someone who has violated one of the ethics or laws of the corner.
And then, due to the Police, the corner slowly dies for the night. Anyone else looking for a busy corner will have to go elsewhere, perhaps to that corner there, or maybe that corner over there, wherever it is, it will not be this corner. This corner must now wait for light before it can be busy again.
So,I sit lightly back into the corner chair, myself waiting for morning to start creeping into the corners of this room. Then I can go to my own corner bedroom and rest my head on my four corner quilt made for me by my grandmother with whom I have been sitting.
Grandmas Corner by Straydog