Random Philly Finds Part I

Sidewalk Prophets

A friend of mine from Boston is visiting Philadelphia for a few days. Last night we went to dinner in Old City. It was a nice evening so we decided to walk the 20+ blocks back home. No more than five minutes into our walk, a man, sitting on the step of an abandoned building called out to us as we passed by. “Is there a thin line between love and hate?” he asked.I don’t quite remember what I said in response, but it started a conversation between us. Immediately, I was drawn in by this man’s eyes, the passion with which he spoke and the intensity in his demeanor. It wasn’t what he said so much as the way in which he said it.

When he finished speaking he asked us for spare change, what he considered “compensation” for sharing his story. I handed him what I had in my pocket, which wasn’t enough for the slice of pizza he was seeking. I told him we could walk down to the pizza place and I’d buy him a slice. As we were walking, we passed another restaurant. His eyes lit up when he said, “That place has the best ribs. Have you ever had them?” To which I replied,” No, but if what you really want is ribs, then let’s go in and I’ll buy you take out.” So, Natasha, Curtis, his associate (who had a wheeled suitcase) and I went into “Q BBQ & Tequila” and placed a to go order at the bar.

While we were waiting, Curtis continued talk about his life, where he had been, what he had done and how he lost it all. In all honesty, I don’t know how much of his story was true and it didn’t really matter to me because the message he was trying to convey was valid. It struck a chord in me. These are the moments in life that I cherish the most, these chance meetings with strangers, people you have never met, yet they somehow “know” your story.

When the order was ready, we left the restaurant and walked down Chestnut Street. Curtis accompanied us for four blocks to the Liberty Bell, and then we parted ways. Before he left, he showed us a “secret handshake” that the people on the streets use. Our paths may never cross again, but I am thankful for this encounter and humbled, knowing that a short order of ribs wasn’t exactly a fair trade for the lesson he taught me.

Riley's Jams

She could stand here for hours...

sold

Several years ago, I got involved with an investment property. It turned out to be one of the biggest mistakes of my life. The financial burdens of this “partnership” fell completely on me. I spent the better part of three years being very unhappy about the way things had unfolded, knowing that there was little that I could do to remedy the situation.

Then one evening I received a call that my “partner” was in jail. About a week later, the building was on the market. It sat for a year and a half with only a handful of very low offers. Last week a suitable offer was made and the agreement of sale contract was signed.

In less than a month, a HUGE weight will be off my shoulders. The people who I am closest to know the negative impact that this has had on my life. I am truly thankful for their support over the years. It was a learning experience, one that I will not soon forget.

D173

In six months, this will be my backyard for the week...

one year removed

And in the blink of an eye, a year has passed...

It’s been one year since I lost my best friend.

I’ve read a few news stories recently about dogs refusing to leave their owner’s grave. Most days I feel like those dogs. It’s not a longing for the past. It’s not a refusal to move forward. It’s more a function of feeling suspended in time.

just a man

I have a love-hate relationship with the city (Philadelphia). It’s dirty, crowded and people are rude, but it’s also overflowing with culture and what I like to refer to as “learning opportunities.”

Several years ago, a friend of mine came to visit from Maryland for the first time. A man who grabbed his balls with one hand and flipped off a car with the other as he was crossing the street at 10th and Walnut properly initiated her.

That’s Philadelphia.

My own struggle is rooted in having worked in the dirtiest, poorest parts of the city for the past decade. These are the places where, for many young men, hope is just hoping to make it until their twenty-first birthdays.

I’ve tried to counter balance this by making an effort to have positive experiences in the city. At least once a week I will go to a park, coffee shop or even just walk the streets in one of my favorite neighborhoods to soak it all in.

Recently, my friend and I were at a bar and started talking to man who was sitting by himself. He had recently moved here from the Boston area. Prior to that he had lived in a few other big cities, but he liked Philadelphia the best. He said that living here was the first time he felt like people treated him like just a man, instead of a black man.

That’s Philadelphia.