Hot town. Sizzling town. Manhattan in the summer. Mr. Rosetta takes the key out of his breast pocket and slips it into the lock. The sun is coming up and the air has the feel of Miami in the winter. We used to go there on vacations before my dad lost his job. In New York it would be real cold and then we’d be off to Florida, with the atmosphere just glowing with light and warmth. Anyway, today I watched Mr. Rosetta enter his restaurant and flip the Marlboro sign to the OPEN side, as I have done every morning for seventeen days. It is 10:26 AM.
Three weeks ago Mr. Rosetta bought up the empty space that is now his lunch corner. A crew laden with paintbrushes and ladders came to fix it up. The place looked real nice in only a couple of days, with a yellow and white awning above the door and shiny new windows. The old owner used to lease it out to a guy who sold fish before he sold it to Rosetta.
I walk past here every day I go to work. Except I this is where I work now. I write for a living. Dime novels usually. Stuff that doesn’t make much sense, but people eat it right up because it’s what they want to hear. I live just down the street from Rosetta’s and, although I could work in my apartment, I like to write in the park where it’s quiet and peaceful.
I write on a yellow legal pad with a fountain pen. My handwriting has gotten so messy that I’m the only one who can read it anymore. Good copyright, I guess. When I submit pieces for publication I usually go to my buddy Carlo’s house to type them up. He’s got a typewriter and it’s often quiet there after he goes to work. In my apartment there’s always some kid crying, or some guy yelling at his wife.
Twenty-three days ago Rosetta came to Manhattan. Eighteen days ago he opened up his restaurant. Seventeen days ago I started coming here to write instead of going to the park. I’ve got a folding lawn chair that I stole from the empty lot next to my apartment, my legal pad, and my fountain pen with me, and that’s all I need.
I started sitting here because of the restaurant. I like watching it because no one ever goes in. The fish store used to be real popular, and restaurants usually do pretty well in this part of town, but no one ever goes into this one. Sure, people pass it. Some even have their hands on the door before they decide to leave. Usually the tourists think Rosetta’s place is a joke, and they don’t even bother.
The guy who sold the fish hired a kid to pace the street in front of the shop. The kid advertised for him, yelling “fresh fish!” and things like that. Rosetta never comes out though. He just watches everyone from his window. Even if he hired a kid, I still don’t think he could get anyone to go in.
Rosetta’s restaurant is free. That’s how he advertises it anyway. Painted on the window in baby blue letters is ROSETTA’S LUNCH CORNER – ALL FOOD FREE. The “free” part is even bigger than the name. This is what made me stop eighteen days ago and stare at the building. This is what made me come back the next day to begin my watch. I just want to figure out what’s going on.
Maybe Rosetta is rich or something. Maybe he’s just a generous old man.
I give myself an hour lunch break in the middle of my work day, and though I could walk right across the street and get some free food I always walk to the 7-11 a block away. Every day I buy a sandwich, a banana, a Snickers, and a Coke. Every day I walk past Rosetta’s and almost go in. Every day I see him standing there, confused.
Maybe tomorrow, on Rosetta’s eighteenth day of living here, I’ll go into the lunch corner. Maybe I’ll insist that I pay. But I have this feeling that if I were to eat the food in there I’d get sick. When something holds value it’s safe. When it’s free it’s worthless, maybe even dangerous.
It’s 10:52 now. Almost time for my break. When I was younger I used to run home every day in the middle of school and my mother would have some great dish prepared for my brother and I. Now kids stay in school and eat cafeteria food. It’s too bad. Maybe today I’ll have an egg salad sandwich. Yesterday it was turkey. I’m rambling, but I promised myself to write until 11:00. I have to get another novel turned in to my publisher by the end of this month.
Wait. A man is coming out of Rosetta’s. I didn't see him go in. He looks pleased. Full. Seventeen days. Almost three weeks to get someone in there. And there’s Rosetta, smiling from the window. His first customer.
10:58. I wonder if the man will come back tomorrow. I wonder if he’s chuckling now, surprised at the treasure he’s found. I wonder if Rosetta will feed the man again if he comes back. I wonder if the man was Rosetta’s first victim. I wonder if the man, who has just rounded the corner, is dead now.
It’s 11:00. I’ll take an alternate route to the 7-11 today. I don’t want to encounter any dead bodies along the way.