At Washington and Passyunk, I spotted what looked like a leftover Halloween scarecrow sitting in a deck chair outside a row house. It was a middle-aged woman, a ringer for Norma Desmond in Sunset Boulevard. More here.
So I’m biking into South Philly to pick up medicine a few nights ago, and I find myself behind a slow-moving flatbed truck, tall and wide and crammed with Christmas trees, and spewing vile fumes. More here.
I run past Dan’s store and see his Christmas trees for sale and hear “Grandma Got Run Over By a Reindeer” on the large speakers above his storefront. Each time this happens, I feel as if it has always happened, and always will. More here.
I rarely blog about myself. I prefer the veneer of fiction when it comes to personal matters, so when my bicycle was stolen Monday, I blogged about the thieves in business and government who prosper at the expense of the poor and near-poor.
But I’m still angry about my bike…
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