In 1960 there were still plenty of us who wanted to live in Greenwich Village. The heydays were long gone, but the aura still hung around. The Café Bizarre was just catching on. The Figaro still had wind quintets or string quartets live on Sunday morning, men with heavy sweaters and horn rims reading the fat Sunday Times at tables the size of a dinner plate. There were still pushcarts with vegetables and fruits on Bleecker Street. The Aurora Italian restaurant was still affordable, the waiters still had Neapolitan accents. Chess in Washington Square. A tuba and piccolo duet by the fountain. Painters showing their stuff alongside the church.
Mari and I found an apartment on Gay Street. Continue reading “¡Que Cara!”