1999: Joey Little Italy lived in a fourth floor walk up on Mulberry Street where his landlord was called Frankie Two Toes (aka Little Frankie).  Joey followed the path of a young Michael Corleone, unassuming and quiet.  He smoked Italian roll-up cigs.  He liked the Democrats.  Joey Little Italy often frequented a joint, of course across the street, called Mare Chiaro (now sadly and rather generically entitled the Mulberry Street Bar). Like a young Don Corleone, sipping on both Peroni’s and Grappa and flanked by his white homies.  At least he had some protection before he staggered home and entered one of the two doors on his floor. The old bald man (his father owned the shop when Blue Eyes dropped in), he often muttered, “God weren’t those the days…”didn’t know if he was Italian but didn’t breach the subject; he was much too angry cleaning the tables of the place.

Joey Little Italy didn’t worry; these were HIS mean streets.  He popped a quarter in the music box and flipped to some Sinatra.  He ordered another round, this time Dewar’s, which perplexed the bartender.  This guy couldn’t be Scottish, could he?

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A fun, spontaneous column about the adventures of a fun, fictious character entitled “Joey Little Italy.”

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