On my initial sweep, I found a dead bug in one of the corners. I checked for it today, intending to pick it up, and found I'd already done it. This is something I likely wouldn't have done in the past – I would have seen it and, having no paper towel handy, I would have left it for later. I would have forgotten it and found it again. But I didn't. For some reason, this strikes me as significant.
I live with three guys, all seem very nice. Me, two roomies and a couple other people had some drinks last night. Fun times. Just like my travels, hanging with a Hungarian (roommate), French from France (roommate), German and American. No girls however, very unlike my travels.
Vince (French guy) and I played a French card game this morning with an oversized deck. This is called Tarot, but if it told a fortune I don't want to hear it – I lost. Just really relaxing, chill times, reminiscent of my dear departed Montreal, and the future looks equally dope. I've been killing as a reporter for the Spirit, a community newspaper in NE Philly – my editor tells me to "keep writing the hell out of those articles." I might have a job as a part-time waiter for a service that caters banquets at the Kimmel Center, Perelman Center, The Academy of the Arts, The Free Library, etc. Things are looking up.
So yeah, this is a pic of my neighborhood, Powelton Village, an old hippie enclave. Apparently, it's famously the home of a radical black group that got firebombed in the '80s (Ed. did a little research, my undoing, and found out the group had actually moved to West Philly (my former area!) after a blockade had cut their Powelton food supplies in 1978). My Dad told me the area's okay, just stay away from that house. So of course I won't.
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