Neighborhood Characters Part One

Once it warms up I’m looking forward to getting back out on my front porch and wasting the hours away. I did it all last summer once I moved into my apartment, and it was more fun than I ever thought it could be. Those few months made me appreciate why my old man always talks about sitting in a comfortable chair and watching the sun set.

One of the most enjoyable parts about the porch is how I try to talk to and interact with everyone who walks past. Young, old, male, female, dogs — doesn’t matter. I’ll say hello, offer a beer or a steak if I’m cooking and try and strike up a conversation. Sometimes it worked; most times it didn’t, but it was the effort that counted. After awhile Steve started calling me the Mayor of Somerville because everyone seemed to say hello while I would sit out there.

In the course of meeting these people, I met some neighborhood fixtures that have become recurring characters in my life — kind of like Comic book guy or Chief Wiggum. Dave and I have come up with nicknames for them over the past seven or eight months.

Johnny Morocco

His name isn’t Johnny Morocco. It’s Yassir, and he runs the beloved breakfast restaurant Sound Bytes. He’s a tall Middle Eastern guy who is known to chain smoke cigarettes while ushering people in and out of the restaurant on Saturday mornings. He can be pretty gruff — especially if you try to order something off the menu, take a bigger table or linger too long in his establishment while other people are waiting to get seated. Some nights, when he’s not working at Sound Bytes Two: Son of Sound Bytes across the street, he’ll chain smoke cigarettes in front of El Guapo, a Mexican joint right next to his. He’s known to force cups of coffee on the unsuspecting masses and take your breakfast order. Plus, he’s a pretty good guy if you catch him while the restaurant is slow. But where does he live? What does he do when he’s not managing his budding Somerville restaurant empire? Why have I never seen him in the same place as Denver Bronco’s former quarterback John Elway?

Licorice Joe

Licorice Joe has nothing to do with licorice. In fact, he works part time at the liquor store up the street from me. The word liquor is about as close he gets to licorice. I just come up with the nicknames, I don’t explain them. He’s a slender guy who also happens to live down the street. He’s been known to give wine recommendations and have shady dealings under lampposts long after most reasonable people have gone to bed. I know this happens because I’ve seen it, drunk and playing the guitar on the porch at 4:30 in the morning shortly before the police arrive and tell me to quiet down. (That’s happened a lot at my place too.)

Officer B

I won’t give his full name in case it gets him in trouble, but everyone needs a little police muscle. Office B is mine — when he’s not leaning on me for noise complaints. He came because Dave, Dee and I were on the porch surrounded by four or five empty wine bottles and a case worth of empty beer bottles one night. He didn’t think we were being that loud; we thought he was pretty cool and chatted with him for a while. He left and then came back later in the night. Then a day later. Then a day after that. Always on his break, always wanting to chat for a few minutes before he went back to collaring perps. I think someone in his office started sniffing around his trail because he hasn’t been patrolling his usual beat. I haven’t seen him in months. Although my roommate did one night. He rang the doorbell and asked for Dave and me. We weren’t home, but it’s always nice to know you’ve got the Bulls in your corner.

Coming soon, Part Two: Gollum and Sloth.