Day CXll

Poor John

      John was a cool dude, a young guy, not much older than us, maybe eight or ten years older. His store was the place to get the latest comic books, cherry cokes, egg creams, jelly rolls, pretzels nobody made a better egg cream. We used to go there after school, and after dinner too, on any excuse. That’s where everybody hung out. His store was right on the corner of 149th street and Brook Av. He looked out for us too, wouldn’t let us smoke in the store, nor would he sell us any smokes either. But we played the jukebox, read the comics, after we paid for them, he always had the latest Superman, or Batman book. We drank our sodas, and asked if so, and so had been by, and he would pass on our messages. He was our phone service…voice mail.

     One day James, Joe, and myself went to John’s, but the door was closed, locked from the inside. John took a toilet break, and left the I’ll be right back sign on the door. He locked it from the inside, and forgot all about the door latch, which was just hanging from the closed door. James, looked at us with that dumb smile of his, picked up a stick from the sidewalk, and without saying a word, closed the latch, and put the stick in it.

    We stepped back, sat on the stoop of the building next door, and waited for John to come out. It wasn’t long before he came out smiling, and ran to open the door when he saw us waiting outside.

    He unlocked the door, but it wouldn’t budge. He had this dumb look on his face, one side of  his mouth was opened, showing his teeth, while the other side of it was biting his lips.