Go on, take a swing

There's one sure test to determine if a New York City neighborhood is safe – look at the bars on the apartment building windows. Bars on the first floor are common everywhere, since it’s so easily accessible from the street. However, if the buildings look like modified jails from the ground floor to the penthouse, you probably want to find a taxi and hightail it out of there. (Unless you're apartment-hunting and have less than $1,000 to spend per month. In which case...welcome home!)

Safe doesn't necessarily mean upscale. I live near a billion restaurants and an adequate commercial district, but it’s more about the good commute than the chichi shopping. It's an interesting, family-oriented, multi-ethnic neighborhood, attractive and functional but not particularly beautiful. Which suits me perfectly.

When I come home in the summertime, I pass old ladies sitting around card tables in front of their stoops, playing games and chatting. Fruit markets are open until 2 a.m., so those same card-playing ladies shop for cabbage and cantaloupe at midnight. There's a little cafe restaurant near the subway, and no matter when you step off the platform, there are groups of little old men drinking dark, bitter Greek coffee and arguing excitedly.

There are plenty of young people, too. I live near a school, so I often stroll to my train in the morning alongside parents running behind schedule, dragging children and Dora the Explorer book bags as they attempt to beat the bell. And I love Halloween, when the kids dress up and go store-to-store, asking for candy. In New York, people don’t have access to apartment buildings (besides their own), so stores assume the sacred candy distribution duties.

I never feel unsafe. When I walk home late at night, I keep my keys in my hand because my keychain is pepper spray. I’ve never had to use it, though.

(I’m actually a registered weapons owner with the State of New York. Pepper spray must be bought in person at a licensed location, at which point you fill out a form and give them a copy of your legal identification. It makes me feel kind of lethal.)

But something I saw this morning made me reconsider how safe I feel at home. On my way to work, I stumbled on this gory scene:

A piñata mauling!

I’ve heard it’s the first sign of a neighborhood in decline. Worst of all, the police hadn’t even responded by the time I saw it, even though the piñata was slaughtered beyond recognition and the thieves had obviously made off with all of the candy.

I’m mostly upset about the children who might have seen it.

And the fact that I didn’t get any candy.