Postcard from Chinguashi

“Anybody sitting here?”  The woman pointed to a bar stool next to Joey.

He nodded, not caring who sat down.  O’Neal’s was a public place.  Didn’t see many Orientals here, but they were pushing the Italians out of Little Italy now.  Even the Vietnamese, moving in everywhere.  The ABCs — American-born Chinese — got to be bank VPs and moved to Flushing, put on suits, and their women wore high heels like this one.

“You live around here?” she asked.

“Nah.  Elizabeth Street.  I come here to be left alone.”

“Italians don’t come over to South Street?”

“What are you, a wiseass Wall Street girl?”  He turned to look at the woman, with her blue suit, red lipstick and black hair piled on top of her head.





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