miss you
On Philly
LA is an elusive city. No one knows how to describe it because its massive sprawl is so non-confrontational. There are motifs of paradise everywhere but most days I feel like I’m looking at a green screen. The isolation from being in your car all the time makes it a profoundly lonely place.
When I lived in Philly, I biked everywhere. I ran into people I knew everywhere I went. It was easy to feel like I belonged, not just among my friends, but to Philly itself. And it belonged to me.
Philly is not for the faint-hearted. There is an edge and an urgency to it that you don’t know unless you’ve lived in it. Been absorbed by it. Molded by it. Had your face rubbed in it. Philly bends you in places you don’t normally bend. One minute, you’re blissfully biking through center city traffic, feeling like the shit as you slip between the smallest gaps, the next, you’re being pulled down to the ground by the trolley tracks.
The tactility of Philly can feel like bone grinding against bone but it’s its most endearing quality. It fucks with you, like a friend who always roasts you. It feels personal because it makes you hyper-aware of your body. Still, there is a hidden comfort in continually being reminded you exist.
February 2024