CASA TERESA

 

CASA TERESA

 

Mark was now entering the fifth day of binge-drinking. He was aimlessly wandering the streets of lower Manhattan – he didn’t know for how long.

He found himself in Little Italy in the south of the borough. He had no recollection of how he got there.

He passed by a store front with a sign that said “Casa Teresa”. In his mental state, it was unclear just what the place sold, furniture or pizza. The sign offered no clue as to the nature of the establishment.

He stopped a few passers-by, asking them what was being sold in that store. Most ignored him. The only response he received was. “Get away from me – you drunken bum!”

 

 

 

 

He squinted his eyes and was pretty sure he could make out a bottle of Chianti, which would make the place a pizza parlor. He figured “Teresa” could refer to a tomato-growing region in Italy, but maybe it referred to an Italian furniture-making family.

He stood there, admiring the sign and the large plate-glass window. Then, he made out a plush leather couch. It was possible that the couch was there for patrons to sit on until their table was ready.

“Dammit”, he exclaimed, “I have no money. Pizza or furniture – makes no difference to me”.

He moved close enough to the store, hearing music emanating from within. It was a song by Frank Sinatra. This did nothing to unravel the ambiguity in his liquor-laden brain.

 

Mark slowly stumbled away, not wanting to deal with this conundrum any longer.

He entered a bar two stores down. If he could find some money for a drink or two it would alleviate the ambiguity.

The same Sinatra song was playing in the bar!