This morning I peeled myself out of bed, stumbled into the shower and headed off to take my car to my mechanic before noon. I tried to explain the problems I’ve been having, including the strange chugging and won’t turn off issue I ran into last week. He listened carefully, wrote my phone number down on the back of a used envelope and said, “I’ll find the problem, don’t worry.”
Leaving my car behind, I started walking down Germantown Ave. towards the Wayne Junction train station. As those of you from Philly may know, this is not the most savory section of town. However, I love it. I love the old brick buildings that are still covered in painted on advertising and that you can still see traces of how the neighborhood used to be when it was still young and safe and fresh. It was beautiful out this morning, sort of crisp but with warm shafts of sun breaking up the cool air. I scuffed down the street, enjoying the sound of the leaves crunching under my feet and the strips of cobble stones that still line the edges of the road.
While I walked those two blocks to the train station I had the feeling that time is porous and that there are places where little bits of the past leak through and join with the present. It seems to happen in Philadelphia a lot. Just one more reason to love this crazy city.