The Final Revival of Opal & Nev

by Dawnie Walton

I didn’t know anything when I first came, so I took a flat on the Upper West Side, a tiny one-bedroom with a tub in the kitchen. Ninety-Sixth and Amsterdam. Today that area is Equinox and bloody Starbucks, but back then it was thieves and rent boys and worse, and at night it was an apocalypse, dodgy being an understatement. When I wasn’t watching my pocket, all my time was spent on the subway getting downtown. The Village, that’s the New York I had pictured from England. At night I hit as many open mics down there as I could; during the day, I played in coffeehouses, if they’d have me, or around the benches in Washington Square. My mum had always stressed to me, “You have to perform as much as you can—grab any opportunity, no matter how small. You never know who’s got eyes on you, Nev.”