It's easy to tell when a visitor is new to the Grey Lodge. Sooner or later — after, say, two or three pints of Dogfish Head or Yards — nature will take its course, and upon the visitor's return to his bar stool, he'll start raving about the bathroom. The art's not just for the boys. The ladies' room also has a gorgeous mosaic, only one running with the theme of "love and money."

Booze. Love. Money. Part of me thinks my pal Scoats has read too many James M. Cain novels.

Anyway, Joan Oliveto was one of the people who raved about the ladies' room. She was in the process of opening up a place of her own — a restaurant called Mozaic, coincidentally — about a mile away in Frankford. She asked if Scoats wouldn't mind trying to do something similar for the exterior of her restaurant. "I agreed to help," Scoats told me. "Now that I only have one job, I actually had some time to do it."

But it wasn't just a job to Scoats. "I used to live in Frankford and have true affection for the neighborhood, so the opportunity to be involved in something cool was a bonus," he said.

Readers of this column might remember that I also grew up in Frankford, and also have affection for this historic neighborhood, despite the constant dire news. In this past Sunday's Inquirer, staff writer Robert Moran wrote a heartbreaking (and excellent) portrait of six 18- and 19-year-old criminals and the bleak streets that spawned them. Two of the criminals were killers. Both were from Frankford.

Last year, I told a cop where I grew up, and he whistled, mistakenly thinking I still lived there. "Move," he said. "Just move."

On Friday night, a man took a bullet to the chest near the corner of Leiper and Overington streets, just a few blocks away from Mozaic.

And Frankford is currently unrepresented on City Council. Its former councilman, Rick Mariano, is about to head to prison for six and a half years. (For more, check out Brian Hickey's exclusive with Mariano on page 18.)

If you have any doubt that there are two Philadelphias, one piled on top of the other, look at Frankford.

Close one eye, and all you see are the bodies. The shuttered shops along the Avenue, the thriving drug market just off the Avenue. The dead stares on the faces of 12-year-old kids.

Close the other, and you see Joan Oliveto, opening her restaurant. You see Scoats, laboring over his mosaic on Frankford Avenue, in the middle of the burning July heat.

I wish I could keep the other eye closed for good. When I think about Frankford, I want to think about Joan and Scoats, working hard under the rumbling El.

"I discovered the wonders of bandanas as headgear," Scoats said when I asked him about the process of creating the mosaic. "It makes working in the heat much less unpleasant. And it turns out you can pre-wet them to make them even more cooling."

The mosaic took 10 half-days, with two people working, to complete.

"Truly a good vibe on the Avenue," he continued. "All very positive and supportive. People are really happy to see something happening. I think people will be really surprised by the true diversity of people who inhabit Frankford Avenue during the day."

This time, the message on the mosaic is not about beer, love or money. (You can see it in progress at www.scoats.com/mosaic.htm.) It's peace. And front and center, spelled out in tiny yellow tiles, is a message that seems dead-on for Frankford these days:

PEACE TO ALL WHO ENTER

And like the mosaic itself, you can almost believe it can happen — one piece at a time.

(duane@citypaper.net)