The peaks of Center City plunge deep into the raincloud.
I hustle-bustle through the busy city puddles in my drug-induced stupor with a soundtrack of Nouvelle Vague. Leggings and chucks: I am the (spitting) *image* of hipster. Damn.
Airport to 30th Street: Coming in from the southwest. Urban wasteland, cloudy skies, trash and tires glowing by the railroad tracks. Beautiful. Where is my camera when I need it? Why did I see the city like this before? Is this my city? It’s so natural, it’s as though I never left.
My life always comes and goes in circles; a classmate neighbor from four lives ago boards the train “all aboard to Trenton” with me. Not even a double take. Completely natural. I can even remember his name, no hesitation.
Has the demise of Philadelphia progressed, or have I become spoiled and accustomed tot he *pristine* (untouched) wilderness of Colorado? Twelve hours ago I was crossing a mountain pass – marvelous feat of engineering. East Coast rainy spring green grass humidity trains trash Trenton Makes the World Takes – marvelous feat of engineering.
Lonely traveler alone with the thoughts of a life gone by that isn’t yet over. Coming home to a home that isn’t quite home but is one of many. Nothing. Ever. Changes. She finds comfort in that thought. Same café, same pretzel, same SEPTA conductors. One, two, three, four, five years running. R1 to 30th. R7 to Trenton. This place is dynamic and unchanging. I can come and go as I please, beginning and ending new lives, but here I will always find a part of me.