There was the old watchmaker next door.

There was Black Hurley, the notorious gang leader, who sometimes swaggered into the district like a dirty and evil feudal lord.

There was a Jewish pushcart peddler, white-bearded and skull-capped.

There was an Italian mother sitting on the curb, her feet in the gutter, smiling down at the baby that was hungrily suckling at her milk-heavy breast.

And so on, and so on.