I moved here to the poor side of Pelham about 5 years ago.  Yes, there really is a poor side of Pelham. 

Within two months, there was a shooting across the street in a building that was a bar but is now an office, thanks to the bar closing because of the shooting.

During the shooting, my exBF Billy and I were in bed and we heard these three noises that all sounded like gunfire and not backfire, so I stayed cowering in bed while Billy crawled to the window to see what was going on.  The only reason he dared to do this is because we live three stories high (well, now I only do, but that's another story) and he figured he could peek down without being seen.

He saw:  A man run out of the bar (which is now, of course, an office building) and get inside an old beat up white station wagon with a tan top, and it cruised around our corner and up our hill and was gone.  He then came back to bed and said, "I dunno what that was all about, but I wish to hell your office had never moved up here."  (I had relocated to be closer to my job).  He then proceeded to say a lot more, but I'll leave that up to you all to ponder.

The next day, the local news stated they didn't know what had happened at the bar across the street other than that it appeared to be a love spat involving a local girl and an out-of-town guy who shot another guy three times in the arm and then ran into a getaway car.

So I promptly walked over to my local police station and gave them a description of Billy's birds-eye-view of the getaway car in hopes it might help.  I then went home and told Billy what I'd done and he went ballistic and wouldn't speak to me for three days straight.  This from the man who invited three Jehovah's Witnesses in, no, sorry, they were Mormons, to talk to me about my beliefs but every time they rang the doorbell I'd send HIM down and make him answer the freaking door.  But, I digress.

So, anyway, it's now six years since I moved here to the cheap side of Pelham (yes, there really is one, trust me) and I walked tonight to my local deli at 10:30 at night cuz I know it's open until midnight, and it's a lovely warm night and I enjoyed my walk there, and I get to the counter with my goods and talk with the guy who is always, I mean always, behind the counter, and he asks how I'm doing and asks if I want my usual deal on cigs and I say no, not tonight, I have two packs already that he sold me for $5 each, cuz they treat me well there cuz I'm there every day, and then he tells me he's really tired.  So I say, "Take a vacation."  And he says, "I can't.  I work for my brother the owner and I can't take time off."  I say, "Can you find another job?" and he says, "What, with my broken English and no skills other than this?".

His brother owns the deli and they are from Yemen.  Or Yaman.  I'm still not sure, exactly, cuz I still have a hard time with his accent and mostly go by facial expressions.  He says Saudi.  I trust him.

He's learning his brother's business and running the place while his brother with the nice SUV only visits on weekends and owns the bigger deli in Mount Vernon.  He works for his brother six days a week and has no life, no wife, no nothing while he's learning the trade.  I asked him tonight, "Do you like it here in the States?".  He said "No, not really.  But life at home was no better, and here I can at least maybe learn something and get my own deli, so I work hard."

While we're talking, a girl knocks on the door of the deli.  Normally, people just swing the door open and stride in, and so we both look perplexed at her as she knocks at the door, looking in plaintively at us.  He goes and opens the door a crack and she comes in sideways through the door in a circus-like move and says, "There are kids' bikes blocking your door.  I thought you were closed."

I say good night to my cashier friend who misses his home and I start to walk out the door and sure enough, there is a little black bike blocking the door, sitting outside on an otherwise long sidewalk.  So......I push the door ALL the way open and force the bike to go scratching its way along the sidewalk in my effort.  On purpose.

And this young kid, 12?  13?  is standing next to another kid his age, and they are both standing next to an SUV occupied by two teens in their late teens, and this young kid says, "Yo, lady!  That's my bike!!!" and starts moving up to me.

I say back, "Yo, this is a doorway you're blocking!"

He says back, "Yo, I just have it parked here on the sidewalk, bitch."

I say back, "It's in my way and blocking the door of a business, kiddo." 

And then my deli counter friend peeks out and says, "She had the right."

And the kid says, "Whoa, she damaged and scraped my bike!".

And I see all his friends start getting all angry and defensive and my deli guy says, "Move on, get out of our doorway," and then he wisely goes back in his store.

Heh, I don't blame him.

So I said, "Did I damage your bike any more than it's already fucked up?  Cuz it looks pretty fucked up to me."

And the kid and his friends take a step back. 

He does dare to say, "Well, you should probably owe me something for that."

And I said, "Well you should probably leave deli doorways open to customers, friend."

And with that, I walked away.

I walked two and a half blocks home, with no interference, turning around now and then to make sure I had no one following me, and keeping my hand on my car keychain which has my alarm on it.  And no interference whatsoever.

My corner deli.  Welcome to Pelham, the first town in Westchester.  Welcome to Pelham, the northside of the tracks.  You know, the poor section.