The Church on Church Street


By James Coman


Copyright © 2025 James Coman, all rights reserved


Edition 0.900



http://churchonchurchstreet.com



1 Commute

Trains never stop in bad neighborhoods, so Adam was speeding past vast stretches of poverty. He sat with his head bouncing against the window watching the mixture of vacant lots, dilapidated bungalows and churches blur by as he listened to The Who. He marveled at all the cheap real estate. Why doesn't someone buy up all this land and build some super-villain compound, or something? Someone should at least buy all the available empty lots until someone inevitably needs to build a big stadium or corporate campus this close to downtown. Online, you can find hundreds of lots for sale. Some of them have been on the market for years, for almost nothing. Some of the sellers literally want no money, just assume the property tax debt, which isn't even that much.

What is stopping him from buying up lots and becoming a land owner? Money, for one, has so far thwarted any such plans. Adam had been saving up to buy something to get out of his dreary suburban apartment and couldn't afford to waste money on quixotic adventures into the hood. He had saved for years. As his house fund slowly grew, so did the prices on the listings that caught his eye. At this rate, Adam worried he would remain an apartment dweller for life.

Adam tried to peek through the streets as they clacked by, looking for some gem just beyond the overgrown brush that lined the railway. He imagined that he could catch a glimpse of some magnificent sturdy building not far from a train stop selling for almost nothing. Instead, everywhere he looked, he saw empty lots and buildings with some part of the roof collapsed in. Whenever he spotted a house that looked like it was in good shape, he would then realize that some or all of the windows were boarded up. Did nobody live in this neighborhood? But then there are cars parked around. There are cars parked on the streets, but also in some of the driveways. There must be some people living there.

What would stop him from living here? How dangerous can it be to live in an empty neighborhood? He didn't even notice, let alone talk to his neighbors in his suburban apartment, so how much different could it be, really? Where could he go shopping around here? He would have to look at a map. Could he still get to work easily? He would check the bus routes. It occurred to Adam that the travel time had to be so much less than his trip from the suburbs that his life would be dramatically changed for the better. He was imagining all his newfound freedom when he heard them announce the first stop.

"Inside Outside, Leave me Alone. Inside Outside, Nowhere is Home," sang Roger Daltrey as the first passengers shuffled out the door. He wondered where all these people lived. The station bordered the desolate south side neighborhoods, and maybe some of these passengers had the same idea of living the ironically conflicted life so close to the city but so isolated. As he did most days, Adam examined the faces and clothing of the departing commuters looking for clues in their demeanor of the lives they led. Everyone looked so ordinary. Adam could see himself in their eyes.

Adam was a white man, nearly 30 years old, who had been born and raised in the suburbs. He had thick black hair, above average height and looked like the kind of person who can probably help fix your electronic devices. In fact, this is exactly what he did at his job. The people getting off the train were almost exclusively African American, and they all looked like people who were also just getting off work.

He changed his music to something a bit less rebellious. Adam still had another half an hour sitting in his hard plastic seat staring out the window until he finally got to his stop. There, he climbed in his old Pontiac, threw his backpack in the passenger's seat, and continued his journey to his apartment complex, with unending rows of buildings distinguishable only by the big numbers on the outsides. As he approached his building, he was struck with how shabby everything really was. From a distance, the apartment buildings looked prim in their uniformity. But up close, the wear of the crowds was unmistakable. He used a key to open the rickety front door, another key to check his empty mailbox, and a third key to open the sturdy but worn door to his own unit. "I really need to clean up," he thought as he always did upon entering his apartment.

He threw his coat on the back of a chair and pulled his company laptop out of his backpack. With the precision of a routine, he unfolded the laptop and assembled its mouse and power cord. He logged in to the computer, the VPN, and the secure site. When he saw that the nightly upload wasn't ready yet, he pulled out his phone to order some food. He paused and thought but went for the website of his favorite pizza place. In fact, he had a stack of boxes still in the kitchen, some of them still with some slices of pizza in them. Like usual, he wished that the website remembered him and his usual order. But like usual, he typed in everything again. He had 30 minutes to wait for his pizza, so he flipped on the TV, and went back to his laptop to see that it still wasn't ready. So, he decided to go pick up his pizza a little early.

The pizza joint staff tried to engage Adam in smiles and conversation, knowing that this was the same pizza they made for him nearly every evening. But Adam just took his pizza, nodded, and drove it home. This time on his way back through the lobby he noticed that the mail was being distributed late to the mailboxes. Optimistically, he stood there with his pizza waiting for the letter carrier to finish distributing the mail.

Hurrying through his task, the postal worker quickly collated the envelopes. But, feeling the heat of being watched, he quipped, "I didn't order no pizza!" It was worth a giggle.

"You should try it. The best pizza around," Adam replied.

"Alright," said the mailman, and punctuated it with the slamming sound of the mailboxes. "Have a night!"

"Thanks," replied Adam as he fumbled with his mailbox key to open his box. He had two pieces of mail; a flyer for a new pizza place opening up nearby, and an envelope from a law firm with his name and address handwritten. He recognized that he had received mail from that law firm before, and it worried him that this was another letter from them. He thought maybe he shouldn't ignore this letter like he did the last one, but he didn't have any business with any law firm, he didn't have any legal issues, and he really didn't want to deal with any bullshit.

He stacked the mail on the pizza box with the flyer on top and made his way through the fire doors that led to his apartment. As he walked, he eyed the pizza pictured in the flyer. He noticed that the pictured pizza was topped with quite a large number of pepperoni pieces. He tried to remember the pepperoni density on his preferred pizza and worried that it might not be as high as the one in the picture. They always try to make food look better in pictures. And he wondered if pepperoni density was a good measure of pizza quality or maybe value. But he did really like pizza, he thought as he added his mail to the pile and opened up the box to his dinner.

Adam sat back down at his laptop, saw that the nightly upload was now ready, and went back to work, eating his pizza. He started the download with his mind only on his work and the pizza in hand. There were some problem records as was common, so he fixed those and sent out some emails for people to work on in the morning. He was comfortable, engrossed in his normal routine.