Tales from Beyond Frick Park: The One and Only Journey
Mr. Vizinyos delighted in recounting his tales of yonder. Paris, he explained, was Shadyside if Walnut Street had been widened to the point of absurdity; Venice resembled the South Side Flats when flooded; Tokyo was naught but Downtown if Downtown extended forever and the PRT went everywhere, anytime; and, naturally, Polish Hill was indistinguishable from Minsk. His neighbors always listened respectfully, though they all knew Vizinyos had lived in Squirrel Hill for seventy-four years and regarded crossing the Monongahela as the sort of expedition for which a prudent man packs sandwiches.
A student, recently arrived to the neighborhood, had the temerity to ask, “Mr. Vizinyos, have you actually been to all those places?” The ensuing conversation was lengthy and, as is the wont of things involving CMU students, rather dull. Suffice to say, it was eventually elucidated that Vizinyos had not been anywhere further than Coraopolis. He insisted, however, that “Pittsburgh has everything: hills, rivers, Italians, universities, bad roads, Italian food, bridges. If you understand Pittsburgh, you understand everything and have been everywhere. It’s yinzers all the way down.”
Certainly, his theory of civilization was not without merit and vastly more practical, so at last she assented. She had just one question: “What about New York?”
Vizinyos shook his head. “Never been,” he said. “Too far.”