23/02/2024
Trenton is a Green City. Not environmentally friendly, it is far from that. However, amongst the dilapidated row homes, crumbling sidewalks and shells of warehouses in what was once a booming industrial town, grows a varied array of vegetation. “The Town” as it is affectionately called, is green with the type of plants,or weeds, normally associated with trash strewn lots. During the sweltering summers that fauna breaks the dread and monotony of bricks, gates, and boarded windows in an other wise gray neighborhoods.
The greenery was probably most prevalent in my Neighborhood, Chambersburg, or “The Burg” as anyone inside of Trenton’s City limits referred to it. At one time, so I’m told, The Burg was The Town’s Italian section. It wasn’t too hard to believe because sprinkled amongst the taquerias,bodegas, and Dominican barbershops were pizza places, Mom & Pop pharmacies, and the crown jewel, an Italian specialty deli called Porforios.
My tiny and spacious yet spartan one bedroom apartment sat on the second floor of the Porforio building. Nonna Porforio had lived here many years in this apartment before she passed the year prior to me moving in. I had kept a few pieces of her furniture when I moved in with next to nothing after being released from a State halfway house, and I never dreamt of removing her crucifix nailed above the entrance door.
While I was still halfway incarcerated I had managed to acquire a halfway decent gig at an aluminum gutter supply warehouse. My immediate supervisor was a family friend of the Porforios and made the connection for me to rent the joint for $600 a month. After being locked in cages for 18 months this apartment was akin to landing at Heavens Gate after being paroled from Lucifer’s crib.
On Sunday mornings I would emerge from my lair to join Johnny Porforio and an ever cycling cast of characters for a few espressos on the sidewalk out front of his shop.
At 10am on a Sunday just like every other, the bells chimes over the door as I walked into the small storefront with the black and white checkered tile. Johnny glances over with a smile and nod as he continued packaging prosciutto for Mrs. Ianelli. Mrs. Ianelli was a typical customer. She was 70-something with not a single gray hair, a small Jesus pendant necklace, just a single spray too much perfume, probably Chanel No. 5, and a warm motherly aura. Despite fleeing The Burg decades ago she faithfully came to the shop after early Mass for as far back as Johnny could remember. Probably further back than even Johnny’s father, the previous shop owner, could have remembered if he was still around.
Another customer, a younger Irish colored guy, I didn’t recognize browsed the shop while Mrs. Ianelli rounded up the last of her accoutrement for Sunday Dinner. He first shuffled around by the old Coca Cola fridges that we’re repurposed to display 4 types of ravioli, pre made chicken/eggplant parm,and dozens of fresh homemade pastas. Then he mosied to the center rack of imported Italian sodas (grapefruit and blood orange were my personal favorites). That same rack held all sorts of cakes and cookies from the old country that I never bothered to try.
I leaned up against the counter that the Espresso machine graced and picked up a copy of today’s “Trentonian” paper.
“PERRY ST. GANGSTER FACES RICO”
The article was about Petey Black, leader of Trenton’s wildest street gang, The G-Shine Bloods, and the slew of racketeering charges he was up against. Those spineless prosecutors were sure to put him under the jail! I once shared a cell with Petey Black but that’s for another chapter.
As a read up on my ex-cell mates current state of affairs, from the corner of my eye I saw Johnny motion to the anonymous Irish kid to follow him to the back office.
“ Try some of the ‘mooz-a-rell’ Sean, I’ll be out in a minute” and the 2 men disappeared to a section of the store I have never seen.
I hadn’t noticed the small dish of marinated mozzarella on the counter until Johnny mentioned it. I popped a chunk in my mouth, the cool smooth texture was second only to the phenomenal creaminess and fresh taste.
Porforios wasn’t the kind of place where unfamiliar faces showed up often. So I was even more surprised that the new guy was invited to the back room. I never mistook Johnny for a squeaky clean choir boy, but now seeing some shady dealings made me, a seasoned street kid and new parolee, a touch uneasy.
However, by the time The Face and Johnny emerged from the back room I had shook it off and did what any part time crook would do, acted as if nothing was abnormal. New Face hustled our the front door quickly wearing a black jansport bookbag he didn’t come in with.
“Coffee!?” Johnny asked with his signature smiling eyes.
“You know it!” My response......
TBC.
Contact information, map and directions, contact form, opening hours, services, ratings, photos, videos and announcements from The Gig Podcast, Podcast, .
