It’s cold and damp outside and I’m walking back to my car from 19th and Sansom. There’s that chill in the air from a previous rain, and the air smells funny. It’s a long walk from here, and it doesn’t help that I start out by walking the wrong way out of the apartment.
When GC and I meet at the Pub it’s almost five o’clock. We sit down, eat some, drink some, and head back to my place because I have all the musical equipment. I play something in E Major, stretching my fingers to the limits on rhythm, and whatever comes out of my other Tele — the one he plays — is nothing short of magical. I have to make something out of that.
I make the phone call a block later. Wanna grab breakfast at that place around the corner, I ask. She says, if it were breakfast in bed I might have a shot. But I ain’t that nice. I ask about the text I’d sent her last night but I can barely hear what she says with all the cars and the wind. As dead as the morning is, it’s still a city. I let her go so she can have a lazy Sunday.
She shows up at Sal’s unexpectedly. We’re there before even Emily and she’s shocked to see us there first. I’m shocked to see her in the first place, talking to us, after ignoring my earlier messages. GC leaves to check on Erunko and her roommate and I head off to the Khyber. This after avoiding a phone conversation she is having with the other MJ.
The streets are pretty bare for the city. Then again it’s Sunday morning. And who’s out but people like me? I’m tired and I want to get home, but I think to place one more call. See what GC is up to.
Steve and Jaime and Allison are at the Khyber. There’s loud talking over even louder music. It’s good music, a nice departure from what’s become the standard. Ideas are exchanged. And I’m amazed at the mind of an aspiring filmmaker. This needs to happen I think to myself listening to the dream. And the girl on the swing. How crazy, yet utterly fascinating. Friendships are discussed, and then it’s time to leave.
There it is. The Starbucks that I sat in with someone who became an awesome friend, months ago. I stop in for much-needed caffeine and the barista is commanding someone to put raw sugar at that sugar/cream station.
Allison accompanies me to my car. Except the garage is closed. It’s past two and we walk the same block twice because I didn’t spot Morimoto when we walked by it the first time. Well, that sucks. But she’s a nice gal and lets me sleep on the couch. We take a cab and I meet Bruno. He jumps a lot.
I wish American Mortals is open and Shari is working. I want to run in and say hello and exclaim that I love the cut. The style. It’s been like this for two weeks and I can’t think of anything to say but I love it. The garage is only a couple blocks away now. Turn left, I’m almost there.
I can’t sleep very well. It’s always weird sleeping in someone else’s place for the first time. It’s not my own bed. It’s not comfortable, in that way your favorite sneakers are comfortable and that new pair just isn’t the same. The TV has nothing exciting on, and it’s shut off about ten minutes after it’s been turned on. A half hour here, an hour there. And then it’s seven and I’m awake. I don’t know why I don’t live down here. It’s a great place. It’s my city, and there’s nothing bad I can say about it. Even on a dreary Sunday morning, Philly’s got a certain charm that I always miss when I leave. A weekend love affair. The growing familiarity. Some day, I say to myself. Some day. Tonight, I’ll be back. It’ll be a different crowd, though. No indie Brit punk music, no new wave dancing. No two-dollar PBR pints. Just a bunch of dudes slamming into each other, being thrown off ropes, pinned for two-counts, or at some point a three. A battle to be crowned champion in a Ring of Honor.
It’s my city, and I love it.