2023.05.17 15:44 PritchettRobert506 [HIRING] 25 Jobs in MD Hiring Now!
2023.05.08 14:48 PritchettRobert506 [HIRING] 25 Jobs in MD Hiring Now!
2022.09.29 20:30 EverydayEndsInY Annual BHM eats post
| Genre | Name | Notes | Location |
|---|---|---|---|
| Seafood | 5 Points Oyster Bar | Lofty watering hole in an industrial space providing oysters, burgers & an extensive beer selection | Five Points |
| Asian | Abhi | Nepalese/Sushi/Asian fusion) (Low-key option at The Summit for modern twists on Asian fare, ranging from stir-fry to sashimi. | Summit |
| Mediterranean / Middle Eastern | Al's Deli and Grill | American & Mediterranean bites served in a down-to-earth, fast-food-style setup | Downtown |
| Breakfast | Alabama Biscuit Company | Daytime counter-serve featuring local, organic biscuit dishes in a wood-paneled, minimalist setting. | Cahaba Heights |
| Italian | Amore | (Upscale) | Highway 280 |
| BBQ | Archies | Was a Golden Rule now independent. Off 31 north of Galleria | Hoover |
| Seafood | Automatic Seafood | Restaurant serving seafood, steak & cocktails in a chic, relaxed space with patio seating | Downtown |
| Gastropub / Pub / Bar | Avondale Brewing Company | brewery space, outdoor venue, multiple restaurants, and a sour tap room | Avondale |
| Gastropub / Pub / Bar | Avondale Common House | Neighborhood watering hole offering house-crafted spirits & brews, plus pub grub & live music. | Avondale |
| Shut Down :( RIP | Babalu | Downtown | |
| Americana / Burgers | Baha Burger | rustic-modern joint decorated with surfboards & bamboo offers burgers, fish sandwiches & sides | Hoover and 31 |
| Asian | Bamboo on 2nd | elevated Asian fusion/sushi - Inventive Pan-Asian plates, cocktails & sake offered in a sleek space with rustic-modern décor | |
| Indian | Barwachi | Hoover off 150 | |
| Indian | Bay Leaf | Modern Indian Cuisine | 280 and Five Points |
| Italian | Betolla | Brick-front pizzeria featuring straight-up Italian fare & wood-fired Neopolitan pies. | Downtown |
| Dessert | Big Spoon Creamery | Contemporary counter serve for traditional & seasonal ice cream scoops, sandwiches & sundaes. | Homewood and Avondale |
| French | Bistro 218 | (upscale) French-inspired bistro fare such as duck confit in a brick-walled space with a warm & intimate vibe. | Downtown |
| Shut Down :( RIP | Blackwells Pub | Cahaba Heights | |
| Asian | Blue Pacific | No-frills counter offering classic Thai cooking in the convenience market of a gas station. | Acton |
| BBQ | Bluegrass | Wet BBQ | Moody |
| Italian | Bongiorno | Mountain Brook | |
| Italian | Bottega | (upscale) (Frank Stitt) Intimate restaurant offering refined Italian fare & cocktails amid dark woods & outdoor tables. | Downtown |
| Shut Down :( RIP | Brat Bot | Downtown | |
| Americana / Burgers | Brick and Tin | farm-to-table soups, salads, and panini | Downtown and Mountain Brook |
| Shut Down :( RIP | Brio | ||
| French | Café Dupont | (Southern French upscale) Chef prepares regional ingredients with a modern Southern spin in a historic, brick-walled bistro. | Downtown |
| Gastropub / Pub / Bar | Cahaba Brewing Company | solid, a little bit of everything | Downtown |
| Cajun | Cajun Seafood House | Modest spot for Cajun seafood boils, po' boys & other classic dishes, plus cocktails, beer & wine. | Vestavia Hills |
| Gastropub / Pub / Bar | Carrigan's Public House | Airy, industrial spot with a patio & roof deck for upscale pub fare, craft beer & cocktails. | Downtown |
| Mexican | Casa Fiesta | solid food and good prices | 280 |
| Gastropub / Pub / Bar | Cayo Coco | rum bar and restaurante | Downtown |
| French | Chez FonFon | (Frank Stitt) Classic French bistro outfitted with antique furnishings & a court for playing a game of boules. | Downtown |
| French | Chez Lulu | casual sandwiches, pizza, brunch, etc. | Mountain Brook |
| Dessert | Chocolata | artisanal chocolatier | Avondale |
| Italian | Costas | Hoover and Trussville | |
| Italian | Da Vinci's | Established restaurant whipping up classic breakfast fare, Italian, as well as pizza & pasta dinners. | Homewood |
| Pizza | Dave's Pizza | Downtown | |
| Pizza | Davenports | Family-owned, old-school pizzeria serving up thin-crust pies & salads, plus lunch specials. | Mountain Brook |
| Mexican | Dos Hermanos | Great steak tacos | multiple locations / food truck |
| Soul | Eagle's | Compact digs with a no-frills style known for daily soul-food specials such as oxtail & potatoes. | Downtown |
| Asian | East West | Fusion | Downtown |
| Mexican | El Barrio | (elevated Mexican/fusion) Inventive, sophisticated setting for modern Mexican cuisine & spirits amid bold art & rich woods. | Downtown |
| Mediterranean / Middle Eastern | Eli's Jerusalem Grill | Modest counter-serve eatery offering Israeli & other Middle Eastern staples with vegetarian options | 280 |
| Chicken | Eugenes hot chicken | Hot chicken specialist goes brick-&-mortar, serving up its signature with classic Southern sides. | Downtown and Hoover |
| Mediterranean / Middle Eastern | Falafel Café | Informal spot serving a range of eats such vegetarian-friendly Mediterranean salads, wraps & sides | Downtown |
| Shut Down :( RIP | Fancy's on Fifth | Downtown | |
| Shut Down :( RIP | Fero | Downtown | |
| Gastropub / Pub / Bar | Ferus (artisian ales) | Avondale | |
| Soul | Fife's | No-fuss eatery turning out hearty Southern comfort fare, classic breakfasts & soul food. | Downtown |
| Seafood | Fish Market | Seafood with a Southern spin, pasta & land fare in a big casual space with fish on the walls | 280 |
| Gastropub / Pub / Bar | Freddy's Wine Bar | wine bar with small plates/tapas | Downtown |
| Gastropub / Pub / Bar | Gallery Bar | art gallery by day, oyster bar by night, attached to Vino | Mountain Brook |
| Southern | Galley & Garden | Farm-to-table American fine dining in an elegant, historic home with intimate rooms & a jazz brunch. | Downtown |
| Gastropub / Pub / Bar | Ghost Train Brewing Company | newer, do a lot of lesser-known styles compared to other breweries here | Downtown |
| Italian | Gianmarcos | (upscale) Fine Italian cuisine in a sophisticated dining room with white tablecloths & romantic lighting. | Homewood |
| Italian | Giuseppe's Café | Italian cafe serving lasagna, meatball subs, pizza & other standards in an informal sit-down space. | Downtown |
| BBQ | Golden Rule BBQ | multiple locations but local chain | Multiple Locations |
| Italian | Grand Ticino | “By Amore” | 280 |
| Asian | Great Wall | (Chinese) | Homewood |
| Americana / Burgers | Green Acres | Fried chicken & fried green tomatoes are served up at this old-school cafe with counter service. | Downtown |
| Americana / Burgers | Gus's Hot Dogs | Tiny joint long known for its eclectic hot dog lineup & special sauce, plus burgers & breakfast. | Downtown |
| Chicken | Hattie Bs | Good hot chicken and waffle fries | Downtown |
| ??? | Helen | Cool venue with a regional menu featuring burgers, seafood & meat plates, plus cocktails & wine. | Downtown |
| ??? | Hero Doughnuts | Brick-&-mortar iteration of a popular pop-up dishing out donuts & burgers until sold out. | Downtown and Homewood and Trussville |
| French | Highlands Bar and Grill | (upscale) (Frank Stitt) (Ever-changing seasonal menu of French-inspired, regional Southern fare served in an elegant setting.) | Downtown |
| Breakfast | Original Pancake House | Simply awesome | Downtown |
| French | Hot & Hot | (Southern French upscale) (Chris Hastings) Cozy cafe serving farm-to-table regional fare, Gulf fish & wines in a historic building. | Downtown |
| Asian | HotBox | Outdoor Airstream trailer behind Good People serving a concise menu of Asian fusion street fare. | Downtown |
| Pizza | Iron City Pizza | Downtown | |
| Americana / Burgers | Jack Brown's | Bar chain serving creative burgers & a lengthy list of beers in a casual, funky space. | Downtown |
| Soul | Jakes Soulfood Café | Straightforward restaurant serving hearty, down-home soul food, plus Jamaican & Caribbean plates. | Hoover |
| Americana / Burgers | John's City Diner | From chicken & waffles to crispy duck, this modern diner serves Southern classics & upscale choices. | Downtown |
| Gastropub / Pub / Bar | Juniper | Downtown | |
| Mexican | Las Trojas Cantina | Alabama chain - solid food and good prices | 280 |
| Italian | Le Fresca | Familiar Italian trattoria offering pizza, pasta & other traditional fare, plus a robust wine list. | Downtown |
| Mexican | Little Donkey | Small chain | Homewood and 280 |
| Shut Down :( RIP | Little London | British pub | Homewood (West) |
| Shut Down :( RIP | Little Savannah (upscale) | ||
| Americana / Burgers | Lloyd's | Unpretentious, long-running establishment serving up Southern-style BBQ, seafood & sandwiches. | 280 |
| Shut Down :( RIP | Lucky Cat Kitchen | ||
| Mediterranean / Middle Eastern | Makarios | An array of Mediterranean salads, soups, sandwiches & entrees served in easygoing quarters | Downtown |
| BBQ | Martin's | Vestavia Hills | |
| Gastropub / Pub / Bar | Marty's | Brick-walled pub with drinks & late-night bar food, plus billiards & a variety of live music acts. | Downtown |
| Americana / Burgers | Marty's GM and Eagles Nest | great burgers and NOT Marty's PM! | Irondale |
| Americana / Burgers | Melt | Sandwiches / Ale | Avondale |
| Americana / Burgers | Metro Diner | Local diner chain serving classic American breakfast & lunch fare in a warm atmosphere. | 280 |
| ??? | Miami Fusion Café | Small, modern cafe serving simple Caribbean fusion dishes, sandwiches & desserts. | Downtown |
| Gastropub / Pub / Bar | Mom's Basement | Downtown | |
| Gastropub / Pub / Bar | Moonshine | City views are paired with craft libations & small plates at this bar in the former Empire Building. (Elyton Hotel) | Downtown |
| Cajun | Mudtown | Homey outpost for Southern & Cajun fare such as shrimp & grits, a bayou burger & black-bean salsa. (very PRO 2A) | Multiple locations |
| Americana / Burgers | Mugshots | Burgers and Beer in a sporty atmosphere | Multiple Locations |
| Mediterranean / Middle Eastern | Nabeel's | Family-owned kitchen & marketplace dishing up grilled lamb chops, roasted peppers & Greek fries | Homewood |
| Mediterranean / Middle Eastern | Najis Mediterranean | Homewood | |
| Asian | New China | (Take out only) (Dang good Chinese) | 280 |
| Americana / Burgers | Niki's West | Lots of veggies on a Southern Cafeteria, plus steak, seafood & breakfast menus in roomy quarters. | Downtown North |
| Italian | North Italia | Summit | |
| Shut Down :( RIP | NY Pizza | ||
| Seafood | Ocean | (upscale) A bold seafood menu & fine wines are highlights at this trendy, contemporary cafe | Downtown |
| BBQ | Old Smokey | Classic hole-in-the-wall joint | Leeds |
| Mediterranean / Middle Eastern | Olive Branch | Family-run eatery with an open kitchen offering traditional Mediterranean dishes and homemade soups. | Cahaba Heights |
| Shut Down :( RIP | Ollie Irene | ||
| ??? | Our Place Gardendale | Gardendale | |
| Southern | OvenBird | (Chris Hastings) Buzzy, rustic-chic eatery & bar with a patio offering adventurous, globally inspired small plates. | Downtown |
| Cajun | Pappadeaux | (280) (chain) Convivial chain dishing up hearty portions of New Orleans-style seafood, steaks, salads & more. | 280 |
| Americana / Burgers | Paramount | Funky bar and Grill with arcade as well | Downtown |
| Gastropub / Pub / Bar | Parkside | Hot Box is located on their patio, cool kids 1993 motif | Avondale |
| Dessert | Pastry Art Bake Shoppe | Homewood | |
| Americana / Burgers | PawPaw Patch | Build your own meat & veggie plates at this simple cafe also offering daily specials & a drive-thru. | Homewood |
| Mediterranean / Middle Eastern | Pita Stop | Cahaba Heights | |
| ??? | Pizitz Food Hall | downtown like a food court but overpriced | Downtown |
| Americana / Burgers | Pop's Neighboorhood Grill | Humble, family-run eatery prepping classic breakfasts, burgers, hot dogs, wings & deli sandwiches. | Downtown |
| Pizza | Post Office Pies | This stylish outpost for wood-fired pizzas & local craft beer is located in a historic post office. | Downtown and Mountain Brook |
| ??? | Ragtime | Restaurant & bar features Southern & New Orleans-inspired fare such as oyster po' boys & fish tacos. | Inverness |
| Asian | Red Pearl | Locals' go-to for down-home Chinese fare & Asian kitchen staples in a simple space | Downtown |
| Mediterranean / Middle Eastern | Red Sea | Ethiopian | Homewood |
| ??? | right Star | Historic landmark serving Greek-influenced steak & seafood in a classic setting since 1907. | Bessemer |
| Asian | Rock-n-Roll Sushi | (small chain) (multiple locations) (great sushi) | Acton |
| ??? | Rojo | Vibrant gathering place serving Latin & American dishes in a quirky, brick-walled space. | Avondale |
| Americana / Burgers | Roots & Revelry | (upscale)Globally inspired plates made with local ingredients are served in a renovated 19-story tower. | Downtown |
| BBQ | Rusty’s | Mom-&-pop barbecue joint with retro decor & a warm vibe dishing up smoked meat & traditional sides. | Leeds |
| Americana / Burgers | Sammy's Sandwich Shop | Downtown | |
| Southern | Satterfield's | (upscale) Creative American eats get a Southern spin at this chic, white-tablecloth space with a full bar. | Cahaba Heights |
| BBQ | Saw’s | (multiple locations)Smoked chicken & pulled pork star in this snug barbecue joint packed with signs & sports mementos. | Multiple Locations |
| ??? | Saws Juke Joint | Self-proclaimed "upscale dive" serving Southern barbecue fare like pulled pork & chicken & waffles. | Avondale |
| Asian | Seoul | (Korean) | 31 near Galleria |
| Asian | Shu Shop | (Japanese Ramen/sake) Relaxed, hip outpost offering Japanese ramen noodles & toppings alongside snacks & small plates. | Downtown |
| Indian | Silver Coin | Hoover | |
| Shut Down :( RIP | Sky Castle (Elevated American grub in a convivial, modern setting with a lengthy bar, patio & TVs for sports.) | ||
| Pizza | Slice | Chill pizzeria pairs pizzas cooked in a stone oven & craft beers in hip digs with a fireplace. | Downtown and Acton |
| Asian | Surin | (sushi and Thai) | 280 |
| Americana / Burgers | T-Bone's | Big cheesesteaks & hoagies offered in simple, counter-serve quarters with bright graffiti-style art. | Downtown |
| Mediterranean / Middle Eastern | Taboon Noon o Kabab | Persian | 31 near Galleria |
| Indian | Taj India | Straightforward Indian fare with chicken tandoori, lamb tikka masala & curries in strip-mall digs. | Downtown |
| Americana / Burgers | Ted's | Old-school cafeteria serving up meaty dishes with 3 veggie sides plus mac 'n' cheese. | Downtown |
| Shut Down :( RIP | The Atomic Lounge | mid-century modern lounge/very trendy | |
| Gastropub / Pub / Bar | The Collins | custom make your drink based on your preferences (supposedly has a good grilled cheese | Downtown |
| Americana / Burgers | The Essential | Trendy contemporary American cafe offering lunch, dinner & weekend brunch, plus specialty cocktails. | Downtown |
| Gastropub / Pub / Bar | The Garage | Southtown | |
| Americana / Burgers | The Grill at Iron City | Large, brick-clad eatery with TVs serving American fare such as salads & sandwiches plus cocktails. | Downtown |
| Shut Down :( RIP | The J Clyde | (the beer lover's bar) | Downtown |
| Gastropub / Pub / Bar | The Pilcrow | Downtown | |
| BBQ | The Pit | Good Lord it’s good | Downtown |
| Americana / Burgers | The Red Cat | Brick-lined cafe serving socially conscious coffee, breakfast & lunch amid live tunes & local art. | Multiple locations |
| Americana / Burgers | The Ridge | Family-friendly American bar & grill offering big burgers & a variety of craft beers on tap. (Very PRO 2A) | Vestavia Hills |
| Gastropub / Pub / Bar | The Roof | rooftop bar at the Redmont Hotel, lower elevation than Moonshine but a different view of downtown | Downtown |
| Cajun | The Rougaroux | Popular spot offering po' boys, gumbo & other Cajun classics in a quaint house with patio seating. | Avondale |
| Gastropub / Pub / Bar | The Satellite/Saturn | modeled after the Saturn V rocket, cool space, also is a big music venue | Downtown |
| Southern | The Yard | Farm to Table | Downtown |
| French | The Yard | (Southern French upscale) Eatery in the Elyton Hotel serving an elevated Southern menu inspired by what’s in season. | Downtown |
| BBQ | Top Hat | Blount Springs | |
| Pizza | Tortuga's | A bar & restaurant with Chicago-style & thin crust pizzas by the slice or pie alongside beer & wine. | Downtown |
| Italian | Trattoria Centrale | Popular, petite cafe serving pizzas with creative toppings & other Italian fare in a trendy space. | Downtown |
| ??? | Tre Luna | (Latin Cuisine) | Hoover |
| Gastropub / Pub / Bar | TrimTab Brewing Company | (trendy brewery, fan favorite)Good People Brewing Company (great location, next to Railroad Park and Region's Field) | Downtown |
| Shut Down :( RIP | Tropicaleo | Popular, easygoing eatery with colorful decor & a covered patio for Puerto Rican fare & cocktails. | Downtown |
| Shut Down :( RIP | Waffle Works | Downtown | |
| ??? | Wasabi Juan's | sushi, burritos fusion | Downtown and 280 |
| Shut Down :( RIP | We have Doughnuts | Downtown | |
| Shut Down :( RIP | Woodlawn Cycle Café | Downtown | |
| Soul | Yo Mamas | Counter-serve spot making chicken & waffles along with other Southern eats for breakfast & lunch. | Downtown |
2022.02.09 23:50 dorksided787 I miss fresh snow! I don’t remember last year being this bad, is this because of La Niña or are winters like this not so much of an anomaly?
2021.10.29 20:22 bwallace11 Building out a new craft brewery - need help!
2021.08.04 12:20 afitztru Green Springs Hwy
2021.03.16 20:51 sco69 Therapists in Birmingham
2020.06.19 02:22 MilkbottleF John Edgar Wideman - Sevven Stories [two in PDF]
Now I lay me down to sleep ... there will be new shoes in the morning. New shoes and an old dress white as new. Starched white and stiff with petticoats whispering like angel wings and hair perfect as heat and grease can press it. There will be hands to shake as she rises from the curb onto the one broad step that took you off Homewood Avenue, which was nowhere, to the red doors of the church that were wide enough to let the whole world in but narrow too, narrower than your narrow hips, child, eye of the needle straight and narrow, don't make no mistake. Hands to help her across the threshold, through the tall red doors, from hard pavement that burned in summer, froze in winter, to the deep cushion of God's crimson carpet. She's unsteady as she passes to His world. Like that first step from moving stairs downtown in Kaufmann's Department Store when you always think you're falling, pitched down and about to be cracked to pieces on the shiny checkerboard floor rushing up to mire your feet. At the church door her mother's hand, the gloved hand of Miss Payton to help her through. Miss Payton all in white, white veil, white gloves, white box tied over her hair with a silky white bandage. Breath might catch in her throat, her heart stutter but she wouldn't fall. She'd catch hold to old Miss Payton's hand, soft and white as a baby rabbit. Miss Payton smelling like Johnson's baby powder, who'd say, Bless you, sweet darling daughter, so the step up did not trip you, the wide doors slam in your face.
New shoes pinched your feet. Too big, too small, too much money, too ugly for anybody to be caught dead in. The white ladies who sold them would stick any old thing on your feet and smile at your mama and say, Just right. But sometimes when her feet in new shoes she'd forget how they felt, and she'd float. Couldn't take her eyes off them, stepping where she stepped, she follows them everywhere they go, click-clack cleats on the bottoms to save the heels and soles. They are new and shiny and for a while she's brand-new and shiny in them. Now she's nobody, nowhere, kneeled down beside her bed, remembering into the silence of God's ear a little girl in new shoes that didn't belong to her, that wouldn't fit. Her toes are drawn up curly, black against pink underskin. She dreams white anklets with a lacy band around the top. Dreams meat on her bones so socks don't slip down to her shoe tops.
If you polished old shoes, you could see your face inside. New ones come with your face in them. In the morning she'd take them out the box polish them anyway and then wash and dry her face and clean her hands and tug the purple Buds of Promise sash straight. Make sure of everything in the mirror. On the threshold of the African Methodist Episcopal Zion Church there will be a mirror in the gray sky, a mirror in the brick walls, a mirror in her mother's eyes and in the hand of Miss Payton reaching for hers, patting her ashy skin, promising she will not fall.
She closes her eyes and hears tambourines. Crashing like a pocketful of silver in her daddy's pants when he stuck in his hand and rummaged round, teasing out a piece of change for her. Like somebody saying dish dish dish dish and every dish piled high with something good to eat.
Dish. Dish.
And if I die ... before I wake. You walk funny because more crack than sidewalk some places on the way home from school. You sneak out into Hamilton Avenue to get past the real bad busted-up part where sidewalk's in little pieces like a broken jar. You looked both ways up and down Hamilton Avenue but you know you might die. A thousand times. I've told you a thousand times to stay out of Hamilton Avenue, girl. But if the sidewalk looked like a witch's face you'd rather get runned over than step on a crack and break your mama's back. So you looked both ways up and down the street like Mama always said. You looked and listened and hoped you wouldn't get hit like little fat Angela everybody called Jelly who was playing in Cassina Way and the car mashed her up against the fence where you can still see the spot to this day.
She feels mashed like Jelly when Tommy Bonds pushes her down. He laughs and calls her crybaby. Says, You ain't hurt and runs away. But she ain't no crybaby over no little blood snot on her knee. She cries cause he hurt her mama. Pushed her into the spider web of cracks cause he knew what she was playing. She'd told him her secret because she thought they were friends. But he never really was. He hates her and pushes her right dead down in a whole mess of snakes. She cries cause she's trapped, can't get out without stepping on more. Every crack a bone in her mama's back. He hates her. He follows her after school and calls her nasty stuck-up bitch till she stops, hands on hips, and hollers. Boy, I ain't studying you. You ain't nothing, Tommy Bonds, and wiggles her butt at him, then she is running, tearing down the sidewalk, scared and happy to have him after her again no matter what he wants to do. She would forgive him. Forgive his bad words, forgive his lies, forgive him for telling her secrets to everybody. She is forgiving, forgetting everything as he flies down Hamilton after her. She knows he can't catch her if she doesn't want to be caught. Says to herself, See what he wants now. Stops, hands on hips, at the edge of the worst busted-up place. Girl, don't you dare set foot in that traffic on Hamilton Avenue. And all he wants is to shove her down. Kill her mama.
She'd told Tommy Bonds her secret. He'd sneaked out into the street with her. Played her game and the cars whipping past on Hamilton Avenue had never been louder, closer, their wind up under her clothes as they ran the twenty steps past Wicked Witch Face City. And never had she cared less about getting mashed because who ever heard of a car killing two at a time.
Tommy, Tommy, Tommy Bonds. If she didn't duck just in time the rope would cut off her neck. If she didn't bounce high enough there go her cut-off feet hopping down the street all by they ownselves. Say it, girl. Say it. Bonds was when the rope popped the ground. Tommy three fast times while the loop turned lazy in the air.
Shake it to the east, Shake it to the west. Now tell the one you love the best. Say it loud and proud, girl. We ain't turning for nothing.
Tommy-Tommy-Tommy Bonds.
She is not crying because it hurts. A little snotty-looking blood. Scab on her knee next day. That's all. That's not why I'm crying, Mister Smarty-pants. Mister Know-it-all. But she can't say his name, can't say what she's thinking because the tears in her nose and ears and mouth might come crashing down and she'd be a puddle. Nasty brown puddle in the middle of the street.
Pray the Lord my soul to take.
The lady who beat the tambourine and sang in church was a Russell. Tomorrow was church so she'd see the Russells, the Strothers, Bells, Frenches, Pattersons, Whites, Bonds. Tomorrow was church so this was Saturday night and her mama ironing white things in the kitchen and her daddy away so long he mize well be dead and the new patent-leather shoes in their box beneath her side of the bed be worn out before he sees them. She thinks about how long it takes to get to the end of your prayers, how the world might be over and gone while you still saying the words to yourself. Words her mama taught her, words her mama said her mother had taught her so somebody would always be saying them world without end amen. So God would not forget His children. Saying the words this Saturday night, saying them tomorrow morning so He would not forget. Tommy Tommy Tommy Bonds. Words like doors. You open one wide and peek inside and everybody in there, strolling up and down the red aisles, singing, shaking hands. People she wanted to see and people she didn't know and the ones she'd been seeing all her life. People she hates. God bless ... Words like the rope right on time slapping the pavement, snapping her heart. Her feet in new shoes she knows better than to be wearing outside playing in the street girl and they break and she falls and falls and if she had one wish it would be let me hear the lady sing her tambourine song tomorrow morning in church.
Voices are a river you step in once and again never the same Bubba here you are dead boy dead dead dead nigger with spooky Boris Karloff powder caked on your face boy skin lightener skin brightener and who did it to you I'm talking to you boy don't roll your eyes at me don't suckee teeth and cutee eye look how that boy's grown come here baby gimme some sugar baby look at the feet on him they say you know the size of the dog by the puppy's feet his long feet this one be a giant some day I swear some man's long feet and his Mama's curly eyes Mama's baby Daddy's maybe I wonder if Bubba's feet bare if his big ass and gorilla thighs and donkey dick are naked down inside the coffin under the snow white satin naked as the day he was born a big bouncy boy on his mama's knee touch him touch him he won't bite he's yours now too man boy your daddy brought you into this world but I can take you out the man wags a finger in the boy's face the boy sees the yellowed long john top three undone buttons at the chewed neck and bagged about the man's middle he's scared them funky pants slide down the man's hips man be standing there fussing at him in his long johns his behind hanging out the holes his knees bagged out like the baggy middle what he wants to do is put his thumbs in the suspenders and hike them back on the trifling runty little man's narrow shoulders here you are that's better ain't it little fellow you was about to lose your britches now go play sit back on down where you was sitting drinking your wine before you got all up in my face about nothing cause you ain't my real daddy and you can wave your finger and holler all you want but if you ever lay a hand on me again I'ma break you in half old man don't care how much my mama need the shit you bring around here no more whipping on me you touch me or put a hand on her ever again it's rumble time mano a mano motherfucker me and you on the green and if you can't stand the heat get out the kitchen this ain't no Papa Bear Mama Bear and li'l Sugar Baby Bear jam no more I'm grown now ain't taking your whiskeyhead shit no more hit my mama hit me Ima bust you up my sweet Bubba how I loved that boy seem like he came out smiling like he arrived here knowing something that made him the grinningest baby you ever seen he was easy easy girl my first and the only easy one I ever had I didn't know better I thought pain and blood and walking the floor all night the way it spozed to be you know stuff you spozed to learn growing up to be a woman so you mize well go ahead and get on with what you got to do no way round it like falling off roller skates when you little learning to skate and scuffed up knees bloody elbow you climb back up off the ground ain't nothing the matter with you girl you sneak back up on your feet and look around hope nobody saw you down on the pavement wipe the tears out your eyes make sure your clothes ain't ripped and go ahead about your business you know you learning a lesson you know how it is dues you got to pay Mama Mama look at you boy look what a mess you made out the side of your face it always hurt you worse than it hurts them you bound to fall once twice three times falling falling and tear up your ass as many falls as you need to learn your lesson then you starts understanding you know better you know ain't no lesson and ain't no learning you just keep on falling your babies keep falling you pick yourself up pick up that boy put him down he's big enough to be carrying you around woman look at where he bit me little devil he's too young to start him on a bottle the falling ain't teaching nobody nothing you keep on falling because falling down's what you born to do all the days of your life amen till one time thank you Father amen you can't stand back up no more little devil knows when he's biting me he look up all cutie-pie wide-eyed and I'm seeing stars think the bloods trickling down my chest boy oh boy next time Ima smack you balder headed than you already is you know good and well you ain't spozed to be biting your Mama like that got the nerve to have teeth little bitty nubs pushing up I rub his gums help his teeth come in rub a ice cube on his gums when he frets please don't lose your little smile now ain't no time to take back my titty let him nibble if he needs to nibble he needs me now I rock him and rub his tummy he grin up at me I lifts him and wiggle him he shakes like a bowl of jelly my little old man him diaper droopy and creases in him thighs him knees wobble shake him bake him paddy cake him sing him froggy went a courtin and he did ride this room uh huh these walls uh huh she lifts the dumpling baby uh huh uh huh tastes its rubbery flesh she is dressed in black beside the coffin her face veiled her gloved hands somewhere out of sight the music winds on she must not stand too long the others behind her prop her ease her along the line fed from rows of benches into the center aisle Amazing Grace you would think they'd get their fill of young black men's bodies but no no end to it she must not hover too long over the crib because the others are lined up for their turn passing passing down the rows of benches onto the carpeted aisle then down towards the flower-decked altar flowers flowers everywhere who pays for so many flowers pays for the dope nobody around here has nothing not one red cent so he stands there in them yellow past patching long johns trembling like a rattle snake he would break the boy apart if he could but Bubba too big for that bullshit now I can't do nothing with him find me a stick break a board upside his big hard nappy head maybe he start to listening to someone no no no that's not the way Bubba's a good boy just needs a man to talk to him tell him wildness not the only way to be a man please help me I try try I talk till I'm blue in the face snapped a broom handle over his back he laughed and ran out the kitchen big old boy like that he should be carrying you around put him down woman you got a muscle in your arm big as mine it ain't nothing it's a pimple look big cause my arm's skinny put that boy down on his own two feet feets big as mine already his shoes cost as much as mine already put that boy down boy you got teeth in them feet boy chewing out the toes of your shoes they ain't a week old look like dogshit already I ain't made of money smack some sense he's just a boy don't mean no harm let him be Bubba Bubba too late for crying he's gone gone gone the others push out their hard wooden seats the rows empty one by one Amazing Grace how sweet the sound his cold cold eye on the sparrow the mourners shuffle they squeeze past ancient knees the ones too tired too old who keep their places on the benches too weary to move they sit alone left behind while the others are a river flowing to the altar and the waters part and rise again two streams returning up the side aisles to the rear of Homewood African Methodist Episcopal Zion Church where the ushers stand in white and once upon a time one of them my first love dimple-cheeked almost old as my mama she smiled at me and melted every hard leg dusty butt knucklehead I don't want to be here in church in the first place anger fear and awkwardness of being a boy force-marched Sunday morning every Sunday morning to this woman haunted place their cries and prayers and wet-eyed singing and hats and moans and veils and bosoms Jesus help me legs Jesus in love and the loneliness beneath those closets of noisy clothes they packed their bodies in Jesus help me the organ when church finally had one when we chased out the white people and moved into their big church on Homewood Avenue first thing you hear the organ when you come in think it some old sister humming in the amen corner as you tiptoe you always tiptoed you always stumbled or shuffled or slid like on ice because your feet would tattle on you how much you didn't want to be in church how much you wanted to fly back out the door and you'd be long gone if it wasn't for your mama dragging you in dragging you away from Bubba and them and what they into Sunday morning you set down one foot after the other careful as rain pitta patta look at the dogs on that boy Bubba you gonna be a big man pardner when you grows into them dogs must cost a pretty penny just keeping you in shoes I'd rather clothe him than feed him on his stoop we ate two dozen hot dogs and drank a gallon of grape Kool-Aid Bubba'd wait till his mama watching then cram a whole hot dog bun wiener and mustard in his mouth shove the end till it disappeared like a train in a tunnel you do that again boy Ima smack you bald-headed but she smiled when he tricked her into catching him in the act same smile on my first love's face greeting me as I crossed the threshold of A.M.E. Zion but her skin shades lighter and not as old and blemishless and warm to the touch of my eyes and her smile sliced me melted me undressed us both her smile crackling like her swift white uniform so white I could see her brownskin sealskin underneath and her smooth cheeks and dark lips part swelling the rustle of wings of power of furled wings behind her back as she handed me a Sunday program and I tripped onto the purple carpet falling head over heels in love with everything I'd set my jaw against Sunday mornings being gathered being plucked from where I was happily minding my own business dreaming of Bubba and them free as birds somewhere they shouldn't be I'm back again in line pushing forward in stiff new shoes the soles still slick I'm slipping I glide feel static electricity charging my body the green worm of flame that will spit if my fingers touch the metal edged fountain in the church lobby who's in such a hurry this morning why do I feel the push the rush can't stop for a drink of water somebody's breath on my neck she peers down at Bubba is he sleeping is he dead babies die sometimes just lay there dead a cat suckee breath steal breath a fat white cat in her dream in his crib a green-eyed Chessy cat grin too late too late cat got his tongue all his sweet breath sweet smile got it and gone gone don't you hear me talking to you boy Sunday morning the bells stroll up and down Homewood Avenue black hands ring them our bells now telling time for all Homewood the biggest church on the block on the corner ours now the pretty stained-glass windows till some junky steals them an organ high domed ceiling we must wash white as snow again tall scaffolds and ladders for the men to climb Bubba won't be there it's Wednesday your mother promised you'd help the men Wednesday evening old deacons and ushers and trustees ancient monkeys in the web of pipe and board rising to the arched ceiling jack be monkey quick angels they are lighter and faster than you've ever seen them in these work clothes they never wear to church I climb one foot after the other into heaven through the door she guards in white welcoming me each finger in white and I love every one her touch veiled but warmer washed white as snow in white glove softness the white that sighs and stretches and must abide her brown body within its shape her fullness her secret scents and white teeth perched within the blackness of her lips her heavy lashes bowing as if she's been waiting shy and puzzled too as the smile sinks back into her entering and warming the ebb returning as sure as the outward flow if you were a spider high up in the tit of swelling vault you would see the pattern how rows empty one by one and the mourners file towards the coffin and the line breaks on the rock of the flower-draped altar returning them in two streams to the source the rear aisle and street door narrow and straight where she nods and smiles at you and touches your cheek once once more gentle scratch than touch more of a tracing her pointy nail inside the glove some bright winged humming insect testing the field of your cheek faint brush of its breathy legs a path with no destination just there an instant then gone back to wildness as if your face is a flower as if your whole life has been nothing till now nothing before nothing after just this quick brush this kiss you wish now as you remember it you wish the world would go away again as it did when she lifted her white winged hand touched her lips teeth breath on your cheek Bubba how long how long behind me beyond me over yonder on the bank one of the old ones too stiff and ridden to shuffle down the aisle shouts like that rock did crying out no hiding place don't leave me this morning weak and desperate as Old Charley Rackett's voice in that down home story I told you Bubba about my people you said you never had no people your Mama found you in the trash you said you liked that Charley Rackett story tell it again man that tough old nigger got some Bubba in him weak and feeble and old but they knew he'd push hisself out his chair and crawl after them to the fields how old was he then my great-great-Bubba grandfather maybe a hundred maybe more they called him the African because when he first landed in this wilderness he spoke a bubba dubba language no one understood not one word of English and even after he could speak most days he wouldn't speak Charley Rackett whipped till he'd answer to that Charley Charley Charley shit a language of blows and animal noises as if he was the beast not them in those old time slavery days then it was Freedom and my people working our own briar patch of land in South Carolina and Charley he's too old go to the fields every morning we sit him in his chair by the door so's he can look out and little Bubba one the gran kids his job to mind the old man from can to cain't from sunup to sundown in that chair by the door then one morning old rusty black Charley Rackett said him say don't leave me behind this morning I gwine wit youall this godblasted morning and up he stood and bram down he tumble out his chair and Oh my God Oh my Blessed Savior they's running around hollering and pull bag of bones Charley off the floor and stuff him back in the chair but he flies right out again quick as a grasshopper and bram hits the floor again his nose bleeding lip cut ain't nobody seen him rise out that chair for years he's hollering and nobody don't know what to do help me Jesus Charley Rackett's mind made up he'll drag behind them on his bloody elbows bloody knees so they gathers him up and ties him on the mule and that's what happens every day till he dies one night after supper in his bed Charley Bubba Rackett riding on the mule with them to the fields he worked a hundred hundred years slavery days and the slaving days after and they couldn't keep him down I was Bubba the boy left behind with him I follow Charley Rackett's stare through the open doorway across the scraped-clean place our cabin sits on like a turned-over bucket study rolling hills and broccoli tops of trees that rise from a crease where the creek runs to a river and river to delta fanning draining to the dark sea where her teeth flash like waves at night my job to fetch him coolish water shoo flies and plow his dinner from the skillet I left too long on the stove fasten scraps of button at the neck of his long johns tend his knobby hands the color of turned earth wipe the corner of his mouth always the silvery web the slobber the grunts groans wheezes of words he can't twist his mouth around he grinds them on the stumps of his teeth chews and spits them at me I sit much of the time as far away as I'm able in the space we occupy him in his pew me scattered in a corner on the floor sucking a tit of cane worrying a hard kernel of something anything caught in my teeth playing funny little tunes in my brain bird cries train thunder lightning crickets the women washing snap beans crack crack drumming in a tin bowl he coughs the walls shake I wipe sweat from his brow wet from his chin it's broad daylight flies buzz I tuck him in pull up his suspenders he calls my name a word a sound nobody else in the whole world knows Bubba and next morning he tries to stand hits the floor and steals from me the long peace of day after day alone with him listening learning my name because next morning they take him and I trail the mule's mulish stink mulish swish of its shitty tail its pitta pat clomp to the fields that morning lost to me unremembered until Bubba lying up there like you sleeping like you ain't got a care in the world boy and you say tell it one more time the old timey story I like and your mama looking down at you her little brown bouncing baby broken boy Bubba I hear one of those stones behind me send up your name in a prayer like Charley Rackett hollered Take me goddammit take me this godblasted morning saying Bubba to myself the sound before the sense of it Bubba Bubba Bubba everybody knew Bubba how old was he was he was he was the sound of it before the sense Big Bubba that's the way we talk we say it make the sound the sense of what we're talking about when I return home I walk up Susquehanna Street the people if people had been outside on their porches would have been close enough to touch their voices loud in my ear if I'd have stopped and squatted on one of these stoops we would rap about Bubba you know Big Bubba yeah oh yeah that was some sorry shit man you know how they did him some evil cold blood shit sure enough man you know I must be getting old because it don't bother me that much anymore I mean you know for a minute or two I want to wring a million motherfuckers' necks but then I let it go got to let it go got to chill out I seen too much be crazy if I don't chill out brothers cut down every day shit it don't mean a thing everybody got to go one day you know like a shooting gallery or some motherfucking evil ass lottery we all got a number just a matter of sooner or later today or tomorrow all the brother's got a chain round they necks and a number on the chain and somebody pulling numbers daily bang bang down you go it's just a matter of time bloods be extinct you know like them endangered species and shit don't laugh it's true we ought to fire up a campaign shit they got one for elephants and whales and ring-tailed sap-sucking woody woodpeckers why not posters and TV ads and buttons and T-shirts S.O.N. Save Our Niggers go on man you crazy man I pass by on the sidewalk listening but nobody on their stoops maybe everybody knew I was coming up Susquehanna Street with my sad self and ran inside shut their windows shut their doors hiding till I pass with my mournful lost-my-best-friend self I wish for voices hear empty porches hear my own feet on the pavement hear a car pass at the intersection of Braddock half a block away the oldest Homewood streets Albion Tioga Finance these streets where Bubba's known where they say his names Junior June Juney Junebug JB J Bub Bub Bubby Bubba all the silent names hidden behind curtains and blinds the darkness of old walls and tight corners and lids and hoods and secrets you can't tell without giving their power up Bubba Big Bubba I thought when I returned home one time it would be different I didn't know exactly how but maybe better somehow things supposed to change I'm older and heavier and slower now can't disappear down an alley streak like a panther part of black night when I need to rendezvous with my kind who once ruled here talking trash knocking heads the fly arch rulers and kings of pussy and bullshit and smoke Bubba June-Boy Sonny Bo sitting high up on the wall of our pretty where nothing no one could touch us one time it will surely be different these empty porches and empty footsteps and lights of empty cars whizzing by on Braddock but the only difference now Bubba Big Bubba gone they say the junkies tired of him dealers tired of him cops tired of him stealing and muscling people carried a baseball bat and you know Bubba never could play no baseball what he look like carrying around a bat he wouldn't listen that hard head still hard as brick man couldn't nobody never tell Bubba nothing he'd bogart and stomp people take their shit and walk off like dudes don't be remembering like you can do shit to people today and just walk on away and like it's over like all you got to do is get yours today and turn your back and walk away like ain't nothing happened like tomorrow ain't another day yeah he was stone crazy Bubba leave me alone now I'm not for no play today Bubba say fuck you punk and your mama too and snatch people's shit like he's Superman or Br'er Bear with that tree slung over his shoulder that was Big Bubba man big as he was ain't never growed up your boy your old time boon coon and cruising cut-buddy main man yeah we go back don't we bro way back to the olden days you me Bubba the Golden Knights and badass Laredos those banging gangs we runned wit runned from we was bad in our day but it's a new day out here cats ain't seeking glory punching some bad dude's lights out no way see everybody carries these days mess wit my shit I blow you away in a minute see Bubba living in the past Bubba a throwback man like them old time big hat eldorado Iceberg Slim pimps beat they women with coathangers and shit it's all business today dude making it on the street today got to have computers and beepers no time for cowboys and indins and gorillaing people's dope that two-bit King Kong gangster jive ain't what's happening out here today it's business business build yourself an organization man power to the people good product good distribution good vibes spread a little change round keep the boy off your back everybody gets what they want plenty to go round if your shits tight it's these free-lance Rambo motherfuckers fucking things up just a matter of time before somebody waste Bubba don't care how big he is how many bad brothers he busted up with his bare hands his big bat Bubba go down just like anybody else you bust a cap in his chest no man the word on the set is nobody knows who did it but nobody in business don't care neither cause he was way out of line overdue for getting done man cause everybody knows the way it goes moving west mister moving on out bro up and out to star time don't fuck with the product product won't fuck wit you you got to remember today's today and yesterday shit yesterday's long gone we was kids back then you and me and Bubba playing kid games then time runs out it's spozed to run out things spozed to change and we sure ain't babies no more Big Bubba a dinosaur man wasn't even in the right century man living by the wrong clock man he was Bubba all right your man Bubba Bubba Bubba everybody knew Bubba.
Sitting here one night six floors up on my little balcony when I heard shots and saw them boys running. My eyes went straight to the lot beside Mason’s bar and I saw something black not moving in the weeds and knew a body lying there and knew it was dead. A fifteen-year-old boy the papers said. Whole bunch of sirens and cops and spinning lights the night I’m talking about. I watched till after they rolled him away and then everything got quiet again as it ever gets round here so I’m sure the boy’s people not out there that night. Didn’t see them till next morning when I’m looking down at those weeds and a couple’s coming slow on Frankstown with a girl by the hand, had to be the boy’s baby sister. They pass terrible Mason’s and stop right at the spot the boy died. Then they commence to swaying, bowing, hugging, waving their arms about. Forgive me, Jesus, but look like they grief dancing, like the sidewalk too cold or too hot they had to jump around not to burn up. How’d his people find the exact spot. Did they hear my old mind working to lead them, guide them along like I would if I could get up out this damn wheelchair and take them by the hand.
A man walking in the rain eating a banana. Where is he coming from. Where is he going. Why is he eating a banana. How hard is the rain falling. Where did he get the banana. What is the banana’s name. How fast is the man walking. Does he mind the rain. What does he have on his mind. Who is asking all these questions. Who is supposed to answer them. Why. Does it matter. How many questions about a man walking in the rain eating a banana are there. Is the previous question one of them or is it another kind of question, not about the man or the walking or the rain. If not, what’s it a question about. Does each question raise another question. If so, what’s the point. If not, what will the final question be. Does the man know any of the answers. Does he enjoy bananas. Walking in the rain. Can the man feel the weight of eyes on him, the weight of questions. Why does the banana’s bright yellow seem the only color, the last possible color remaining in a gray world with a gray scrim of rain turning everything grayer. I know question after question after question. The only answer I know is this: all the stories I could make from this man walking in the rain eating a banana would be sad, unless I’m behind a window with you looking out at him.
At first I think it's a mad boy let out of the attic or basement for air an hour a day whistling at me from the rear of a long yard, a demented boy unfamiliar with skin darker than his but crazy enough not to be afraid, not to care, and whistling scorn, racial epithets, his shrill keening anger at being surprised, intruded upon by a trespasser black as the devil or ooh-la-la, cutie-pie, what the fuck do we have here, sweetie, shrieked loud enough for the whole neighborhood to enjoy in the long silence of Le Moustoir at the eastern lip of Arradon on the Gulf of Morbihan in the vicinity of Vannes in Brittany in France in Western Europe in a Universe with ample space to incarcerate boys in Turkish-looking, rusty cages crowned with minarets, hung on trees, two of them, two cages umbrellaed by trees at the front of the long yard belonging to a house on the corner of rue Saint Martin and rue de la Touline I passed without seeing on daily walks to the part tavern, part grocery store or morning strolls to the closest sea or jogging five kilometers to Toulindac that opens like a tourist's postcard dream when you turn a corner and coast parallel to the coastline, île aux Moines, a gray lump framed in endless blue distance by the long, slow smile of curve embracing double-deck ferries, white sails, striped sails, a sailing school with pennants flapping where kids try to learn to fly like fish and birds, a convincing advertisement for the good life, a trick, achieved with mirrors, even though happy, piping voices reach me there, all the way up there on a road above Toulindac when I glide or pretend to glide invisibly, effortlessly as wind towards the fence-lined path that cuts steep and straight down to the beach, to acres of naked flesh, rocks and rocks and rocks, large as elephants, tiny as stinging gnats, families packed on weekends into this small, select space with stunning views almost to open sea, sea a bright lawn of water barely rippling as it laps the beach whose gently sloping sandy bottom remains visible underwater, many steps from shore, the footing awkwardly rocky through knee-high puddles of nodding algae, but soon smooth enough except for stones sharp as nails, blue, chilling water shallow for youngsters to wade far, far out, clear and calm, never a black triangle of fin crossing parallel to the horizon, no pain till you step out shivering, blue, slit open, the kids can play while you half watch, half doze, stupid in the sun, no need ever to get your feet wet or cold again, gashed again, your mad boy free a minute or two in the yard to wolf whistle or coo or cackle at Le Moustoir neighbors passing by, at children from the kindergarten across rue Saint Martin who break out early afternoons to car doors slamming them in, their young mothers waiting naked and dazed as sunbathers or hiding in drab colors of little donut cars jammed in the shade of trees adjacent to the house with a long yard on the corner where if I could ever get its attention, if I could ever master its language or the French language it might bi-lingually understand, I would teach one of the parrots or the other to be a mad boy again, not so mad he's locked in a cage but mad enough to whistle and hoot horribly obscene, scary things at kids and their mothers, warning them about the bright razor sea you can smell from here and all the dead things in it, including pale skin of mothers burnt to ash, including children set out to play, set out nonchalantly like they're turned out to play in traffic on busy streets of this Universe shaped like a long yard from whose shadowy rear-end a hoarse, mocking, insane voice chops at me, cuts my legs from under me so I never make it to Toulindac one day, just kneel here, bleed here, outside the house's white stucco, chin high wall, begging forgiveness of a boy born mad and almost mute but he's picked up the gift of assaulting others with a few choice, nasty noises picked up from his Universe, on my knees imploring him to forgive me for blaming and cursing him because I saw for the first time two parrots staring, swaying, pecking gently at the bars of their rusted, oriental cages, two lynched birds I'd teach to warble Emmett Till, Emmett Till if I could, but they just sit there preening, ruffling their ratty feathers, each twin nailed to its perch, neither one making a sound in response to my coaxing, my artless imitations of them and I give up.
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