Bipedal Stories

“We have 45 minutes. We can get a drink.” A group of women walked past me. Saturday, a day of freedom unshadowed by anticipation of the week ahead. They laughed, energy in their step. Bright sunshine chipped away at the bitter cold that had encased Philadelphia for the past week.

“I’ll have a beer.”

They had come to the right place. South Street’s ramshackle head shops and fast-food grease pits have given way to Whole Foods, Starbucks, and taverns with craft beer on tap. Just east of Broad Street, new condos rise above the bones of shuttered warehouses.

I felt light on my feet, giddy at the hint of spring. At 11th street, I stopped to contemplate Isaiah Zagar’s Magic Gardens, mosaics of glass on either side of the alley. Tourists photographed the installations, laughed at their reflections, refracted and scattered in a million little pieces of glass.

I checked my watch. I wanted to get at least to 5th Street before heading back to Broad Street for a concert at the Kimmel Center. I needed to stretch my legs, inhale the outdoors. The winter had been tough. If I picked up the pace, I could make it with time to spare for a Starbucks.