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I’ll admit: I totally didn’t get through your last letter. Too much politics. Where’s the heart?
I’m sorry I missed your birthday party this weekend. I hope my phonecall did something to smooth things over. We got walloped with snow this weekend, police cars careening all over the place, children tunneling deep into the white, forming their own philosophies and morals, the sun a weak and distant speck of light, looking on with a kind of apathetic curiosity.
Also, my car is buried. And I mean buried, so I’m going to let it stay there for a while since parking is at a premium. I took the bus in today and listened to Van Morrison and constantly moved out of the way of obese people who wanted to get off at every. single. stop.
But I had a quiet moment while Jackie Wilson Said played, and I smiled at a girl that walked past, and looked up at the Peco building and realized that I’m still in Philadelphia after all these years. I felt okay about it.