Summer burst upon the neighborhood like the first firecracker to come spiraling to the sidewalk from the hands of a local mischief. It set off a chain reaction that will continue until Labor Day. The path of young, late-night roamers can be traced by listening to the bangs and shouts wind down Euclid Street.
These are nights for sleeping with the fan turned up high. Its breeze cuts through the oppressive, muggy air, providing some comfort, and its constant hum muffles other noises.
Sirens seem to scream louder and longer in the summer, racing to a crescendo and then fading into the distance. Police helicopters, beaming searchlights into the alley out back, hover close enough to rattle windows.
The "bacon man" comes through the neighborhood after dinner, shouting and pushing a shopping cart full of meat for sale. The ice cream truck retraces its afternoon route at midnight, and young children swarm to its beckoning bell. Apartment windows are left open, and music blasts into the street from all sides, creating a swirl of disco dissonance. Dogs bark and cats whine at rats and roaches which scurry through the alley's garbage.
Fourteenth Street, the counterpart to Manhattan's 42nd Street, is a bottle's throw away. On a clear night you can climb up to the roof and watch the approach and takeoff of planes from National Airport; or gaze at the three stars visible in this part of the world; or enjoy a circle of fireworks displays in Maryland, Virginia, and downtown, if it's the Fourth of July. A glimpse across to the tenement next door shows a two-bedroom apartment with laundry for a family of nine hanging from its balcony. One window below, an argument is going on, accompanied by the cacophony of a TV set.
Read the Full Article
