Can you imagine paying $30 for a week’s supply of quality meals for four?

“Put me in a time machine and I’ll go back to 1950,” you’ll probably say.

Actually, all you have to do is go to 2114 Mermaid Avenue in Coney Island. For several days each month, the Lighthouse Mission holds a food co-op, representing the south Brooklyn branch of Project Angel Food, an organization founded by Marianne Williamson to provide good food at affordable prices. The Coney Island branch has been open since January.

A young man walks determinedly along a sadly dilapidated basement of a Bay Ridge church. His manner is undeniably cocky, and the sneer marring his handsome face only adds to the moment’s inherent intrigue. His golden hair nearly luminescent in the room’s artificial light, he almost bears the presence of an angel.

Ironically, this vibrant lad is auditioning to play the devil in the Narrows Community Theater’s fall musical, “Damn Yankees.”

In existence for nearly four decades, Narrows owes its humble beginnings to a myriad of holy buildings in the oceanfront neighborhood and – for quite a few years until 9/11 – the Fort Hamilton Army Base.

“Actually, we played wherever we could get space. Our problem has always been a home,” said Mickey Sullivan, a member of the Narrows board since its inception. “Over the years, we have lost thousands and thousands of dollars in props. We had to leave them – we had no place to store them.”

A shabbily-clad waif of a woman moves defiantly for several paces – each step surging with determination. The tail of her outdated, though strangely elegant dress trails behind her as though a silent and decidedly unrefined handmaiden. She cunningly approaches, as the object of her ire ascends the makeshift stairs, before releasing the typhoon of emotions within: “Just you wait, ‘Enry ‘Iggins! Just you wait!”

Wait – is that sensational siren your next-door neighbor? Who would have thought?

Ah, Community Theater. The inimitable inflection of spoken performance by a vessel atop a rickety stage, laughing and cajoling an unwary interlocutor for a decidedly dastardly act – only rivaled by the song and dance concoction the season following, embracing sights and sounds generally foreign to the neighborhood at large.