Abstract
We easily turned 139th Street into a tropical barriada. All the stores in the area had Spanish signs in front. In the mornings you would hear the radios blaring those Latin rhythms in an eerie but reassuring echoey unison-and the smell of hundreds of pots of Cafe Bustelo filling the air. ...the rhythm was very important to all of On 139th Street it would be my lullaby. Conga drums and chants echoing through the streets and alleyways in the late afternoon. I would lie in bed with my bottle [baby bottle] and listen to the coros as I watched the light from the headlights of the cars that would come down the hill track across the wall of my bedroom .....The night had rhythm. So much so that when the music outside stopped, we'd say 'What the Hell was that!' There was something wrong. Like in those old Tarzan movies when he'd stop and notice that the drums stopped. That made a lot of sense to me. Soon after, our rhythmic security force would start up again and we could all go back to sleep. The rhythms protected us. (Colon, The Rhythms 10)
Published Version
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