The following is a very short story I wrote for a contest. The idea was that the story would fit on a bookmark. I wrote three entries. This is the first.
The Block
I’ve lived on the same block all my life. I’ve seen the storefronts change and the people age. Races come and go. Italians, Puerto Ricans, Blacks and Mexicans have all lived on the block. So many things have changed. But the block remains the same. The sounds and scents change but the feeling is eternal. The feeling I get from the old woman walking with confidence or the children laughing with each other. There are still guys standing on the corner at night with one foot in the gutter and the other slipping. Even as the block becomes gentler there is still an undercurrent of danger. I see the changes and know the more things change the more they stay the same. The block is as it was. I would have it no other way. Some people don’t like that. They want to break the block’s spirit. They try to cripple it with high rents and disapproving looks. But the block is strong. The people are strong. They may not be the same ones who fought before. But they fight just the same. The men and women of the block change. But the important things stay the same. They still fight to lead a good life, fight to provide for their families, and fight to give their kids a chance at a home. There was a time when people came from small towns. But here and now, in this city, we come from blocks and it means just the same.
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