I walked out to the alley way that separates J. Walkman and Turner Law Firm and the Klein Deli across from it. Apart from the dirt and the occasional smell of the city when the breeze brings it to you, it's the only place to have a quiet lunch.
The alley has a few large refrigerator boxes nestled up to the law office side and a dumpster that hasn't been emptied in God knows how long. Trash has been blown by the wind and gotten stuck in the corner by the dumpster to create a pile. The faint smell of sour milk and meat that's gone bad hits me every few seconds but after awhile the smell goes away.
The street is in view, just a few yards away really. Cars hurrying along to get to where they need to go. The yellow taxi's taking the back roads in order to make a few extra bucks. The sidewalk is full to the brim with people in fancy dresses and business suits. Probably heading to another Law Firm. God knows this city is full of them. You're never short of a few lawyers. Did you ever hear the one about the good kids growing up to become doctors and the bad ones becoming lawyers? It wasn't a joke, just an observation..
WHAM! The door from the delicatessen slams open and crashes against the brick building. An older man, in his late fifties, walks out to the steps with a chef’s jacket over his hairy shoulder and a disgruntled look on his face. He shoots his eyes my direction as if to say, "Yea, you too, huh?" Heck, the alleyway makes for a nice lunchroom, I guess for some people it's a place to release bad emotions. The old man, I'll call him Vinny, digs through the pockets and pulls out a pack of Kents.. He holds the carton to his mouth and pulls out a single stick with his teeth. He puts the carton away in one pocket, at the same time digs through the other. He pulls out a lighter, cuffs his hands around the cigarette to calm the effects of the wind, and lights up.
Vinny sits down on the top stair of his side of the alley, the smoke from the cigarette billows from his mouth. He grabs a brown crumpled up paper bag, pulls out a sandwich, probably bologna, heck, he works at a deli, it's probably honey ham and muenster. An interesting thing happens while he eats his lunch. An alley cat, black with a few patches of white, climbs out of the alley rubble and walks up to him with no fear. MEOW! the cat says to Vinny. MEOW! Vinny says back. Vinny presumes to talk to the cat like they were old friends having a beer at a high school reunion. Vinny delicately tears a piece of his sandwich meat and tosses it to the cat. The little black ball of fur scarfs it down like he hadn't had a meal in days. Poor thing, looking closely you can see the outline of his ribs, the cat, not Vinny.
After licking his furry lips, he sniffed the dirty ground and then looked up at me. He looked right into my eyes. You would think that a hungry cat like that would be eyeballing the half eaten turkey club in my hands but he didn't. He looked at me. Almost like a person would if they were looking for validation. I tore a piece of turkey from my sandwich and tossed it a few feet from where he was sitting. He scarfed it down and then ran back toward the same direction that he came, disappearing in the alleyway trash.
"He's a con cat, ya know," Vinny said with a thick, Italian accent..
"He's not as hungry as you'd think," Vinny resumed, "He probably feasts on plump, juicy rats all day, the alley is like a smorgasbord to him."
Looking at the sandwich in my hands, suddenly I'm not so hungry. I think it was the "Plump and juicy rat" comment that got me. I threw my sandwich down on the ground near where the cat was before, stood up, brushed off, wished Vinny a good day and began back toward J. Walkman and Turner. As I opened the door, the little black cat ran down the alley, picked up the turkey from the sandwich and ran back to his hiding place. Vinny snickered and gave a wink toward the cat. I should have known. Vinny and the cat working together. I was having lunch with two con men.
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