Black At Last 2010

Frank's Bar on Fulton Street is black. It's not Black Panther 'Black' or Malcolm X 'Black' but it's blacker than any other bar in Fort Greene. Since 1972 too. I've been hanging out there for the last year. I have never pretended to be anything more than what I am. A white boy from Boston and the regulars of the bar have accepted my whiteness. I speak with Homer about the Knicks. We agree that they suck. Billy in the corner tells me tales of the 50s. He is that old and Tim, the owner's brother, drinks with me on Sunday afternoons. Ain't no one else there but me and him. He's 75. I'm 57. We've seen some of the same things, but I was a white boy cracker.

Until tonight.

Before leaving the Plaza Retail floor in the basement, I stopped at Demel's Chocolatier in the Plaza. THe Austrian franchise was closing on Friday. Business in the Plaza Hotel was horrible. THe Israeli owners were real estyate dealers and not cordial hists., plus only three things work in a basemetn; a boiler, a bar, and a brothel.

Attila, the owner's son, packed a box of cakes. He asked where I was going, thinking I might be trendy, after all my boss Richie Boy had been in the Boom-Boom club the other night.

"Going to the in spots is not my game. I'm strictly Frank's."

It was three blocks from my apartment in Fort Greene and Rosa was tending the bar. The Chino-Mexicana was funny, hot, and poured free beer.

Upon my arrival at the establishment on Fulton Street, I arrived with chocolate cakes. All the girls at the bar cooed with expectancy seeing the chocolate cakes. They were chocolate-lovers to the bone. I fed them pralines, dark chocolate mousses, super chocolate pies. All the sisters were ecstatic and the largest, Darleene, said, "Thank you, Mr. Chocolate."

"Mr. Chocolate?" I pondered the enormity of this appellation and said, "Having reasched the promised land when a white man can be recognized as chocolate. Chocolate City I love you."

Everyone laughed except for one young man. A stranger with a glower.

"You ain't no brother."

These were harsh words and I stuck out my arm. It hadn't seen the sun in six months.

"I white than you is true, but I have the power of chocolate." I offered his a Chocolate tart.

Darleene's right. You are the Chocolate Messiah.

Everyone laughed harder. Even the brother darker than the white boy # 1.

I do love this bar.