It’s inevitable.

Saturday, October 10, 2015

I knew with the threat of rain I was taking a chance walking into Hoboken yesterday.

But this had been a week from hell, where between finishing the debate video and getting my stories done, I had barely seen outdoors except driving from here to there.

I needed the air and to stretch my limbs and the walk from my house on the Western Slope of Jersey City to 14th Street in Hoboken did just that.

A few drops wet my brow during the walk in. But during the day, rain swept over Washington Street, making even my usual mid-day coffee ritual somewhat moist.

I lingered a little too long in the office, finishing up a few small items before the long weekend. This allowed seriously dark clouds to sweep over the city, and my journey up the viaduct from Hoboken, through Union City, proved more than a little challenging. The rain hit just as I got to the metal footbridge over the viaduct into the Union City portion of Washington Park.

So did the lightning, a terrifying matter since being in a metal cage (essentially) at an extremely high elevation seemed like a bad idea.

When I got to the other side, the deluge hit, and the best cover I could find for the moment was behind a large tree, whose trunk blocked out some of the torrential rain being blown towards me.

But I still got soaked, even putting my denim jacket over my head.

A woman jogger came passed me in a hurry. But until I saw her circle around again, I thought she was rushing for better cover. Soaked as she was in her green jogging suit, she seemed unabashed by the slash of rain and the claps of thunder.

Still I waited, rain dripping off the tip of my nose.

When the down pour slackened slightly, I decided to continue the walk, even though I was barely half way home.

As I exited the park, I saw the bus shelters, and realized I might have avoided some of the worst of the storm had I continued in the first place. The one on my side of Palisades Avenue was stuffed with two bicyclists and some young woman standing on the seat so as to not get dripped on. This left very little room for anyone else. But the shelter across the street only had one person in it. So I went and took cover there.

She was pleasant black woman from Hoboken, Born and raised there, she said, with a brief trip to Puerto Rico. She had been shopping on Bergen Line Avenue, got caught up in the storm when trying to change buses.

A number of buses passed but none were going to Hoboken.

She said her “sweetie” drove a tractor trailer truck up and down the east coast, getting paid well enough for them to continue to live in Hoboken. But she said she was being pushed out by the excessive rich people, the yuppies. Rents were going through the roof. Section 8 housing was being turned into market rate properties to accommodate. Businesses were no longer interested in selling to the poor when they had walking wallets stumbling around willing to pay high prices for everything.

She said she didn’t like the current mayor because the current mayor didn’t seem to represent anybody by the rich people, and could care less about people being forced out of town.

“We’ll hold on as long as we can,” she said. “But eventually we’ll move to Florida. I have family there.”

At this point, the rain has slackened enough for me to start walking again, and with my wet denim jacket over my head, I made my way towards the safety of the Western Slope, wondering if and when people like me will be forced out of Jersey City the way people like this person were from Hoboken.

It’s inevitable.