Grease Is the Word

Yesterday, I encountered a seasoned subway panhandler, a woman, though, whom I hadn’t seen in quite a while—since the start of the pandemic at least. I'm happy to report that she was in fine form, her art as sharp as ever. Everything she does is spot-on, beginning with her delivery, which is loud enough for passengers in the entire subway car to hear. The lady also carries a sizeable receptacle for contributions and always has. This measure is win-win and especially critical in the present COVID-19 times in which we live. Methodically, she works the train from end-to-end—that’s ten cars and ten spiels. 

I don’t know her true story—mental illness no doubt plays a big part in it—but I always give her a dollar or two. She says that she is HIV positive and two months pregnant and rarely goes off script. Two months pregnant is carved in stone. The fur or faux fur coat she was wearing was a new twist. Life in the land down under is always unpredictable and never dull. And there are countless men and women who roam the recesses with tales to tell—real and imagined—many of them very unhappy ones.

And now for a little life in the bright light of day. There was a big street fair on Sixth Avenue this past weekend—and last weekend for that matter—with a diverse group of vendors. One participant’s tent sign read “Interesting Items.” I thought that a unique form of fair branding, which covered considerable ground. I got the impression—a feeling—that the interesting items were somehow a euphemism for junk, but I could have been wrong. There were numerous people perusing the interesting items. In retrospect, I was remiss in not checking them out.

My outing’s last act found me in a pizzeria. One, in fact, that I had passed countless times through the years, but never patronized. It always appeared grungy from the outside. Its awning sign didn’t exactly draw you into the place. But then it’s been said time and again that we shouldn’t judge a book by its cover, nor a pizza shop by its facade. To my pleasant surprise, I had the best slice I’ve had in a long time. In what has been a sea of mediocrity—some better than others—this pepperoni pizza hit the spot. Despite it being a risky undertaking—and a potential indigestion nightmare—the allure of pepperoni remains strong. My latest pizza experience was perfect: a fresh, thin slice with the pepperoni grease saturating the dough. There is good grease and bad grease in the world of pizza. This was unquestionably the former. And when the stars align in the pizza chase: Grease is the word.

(Photos from the personal collection of Nicholas Nigro)