Ode to…
Ode to the old-timer Spanish Harlem Nuyoricans out there who pilgrimage through the neighborhood on your decked out, bejeweled, banana-seat bicycles with a PR flag planted on your trumpet blasting 1980s stereos strapped down with elastic ropes, like Neil Armstrong landing on the moon. Ode to you, I say, because I now see the light of your ways. The haughty smile contained behind your shiny oversized sun glasses, your tropical colors swimming through a sea of gray cement and grind. You are your own universe, inviting everyone in. I used to snicker at you as a NY anomaly, with pride. Now though, I understand that you’re Paul spreading the gospel of salsero life, alluring us with your Taíno, African and Spaniard beats.
I do it now too, in my own way, via ipod in the subway and streets, horrifying those next to me, practicing my 1-2-3’s and 5-6-7’s. So what that I’m learning it on 1 in a city of 2? Hats off to you. Looking forward to seeing you again in the summer.
