There are different kinds of power. When I was kid, there was a gangster, real old-school type, Rex Calabrese. He was a big deal. At least, in my neighborhood. He helped people. When someone in your family was sick, he’d find you a doctor. Short on rent, front you the cash. Knew everyone’s names, too. I don’t know how he kept them all in his head, but… He saw you on the street, he’d call out to you, ask how you were. Felt like he meant it, too. When I’m 14 or something, he has a heart attack and dies, still holding his cigar. In my neighborhood, they throw a parade in his honor. A friggin’ parade. I mean, it wasn’t fancy, but it was the gesture… the show of love… of what he meant. Can you imagine? To be remembered like that?[to Alberto]
