I am on my way to my third social gathering local this evening on or off Ferry Street, all of which are within walking distance. The street is bustling with pedestrian traffic making its way from one lounge to another. The cool air of an early Spring evening fills my lungs, and I take in the City. My wantonness for an ample supply of good food and company is voracious, yet these storefronts aren’t an affront to supply and demand. It is a Bacchus celebration, with all the requisite detailing found in any Metropolis’s bar, restaurant, or lounge. The multi-cultural blend, architectural detailing, and musical accompaniment are all part of your visual and audio didactic experience.
There are those that scoff at the idea that there is a thriving nightlife in the City of Newark. Many would argue that Newark’s Renaissance City hashtag is nothing more than a ploy, or cajoling for the likes of would be investors. The general public outside the City has been inculcated into this belief system from a generational gap that sprung after the riots.
Are we to perpetuate the myths that support these draconian forgone conclusions to irrational based models of this City.
The live reggae band plays on the terrace, while I finish off my third espresso. The recess lighting offers glimpses into the various nooks occupied by the City’s outgoing cohorts. The waitress writes her number on my bill, and I leave a tip, “Not Interested.” The politico, artisan, social magnets, and the Red Bulls Viking Army are all cavorting on a single platform. It is Newark, and Mr. Saturday would like to welcome you.