There was a woman sitting on a bench in the trolley stop this morning, with a Little Mermaid sleeping bag spread neatly out underneath her. She was in stocking feet, and as I walked by she stretched and yawned, like she had just had a restful night on the bench. Oblivious to all the people around her, she delicately pulled on her shoes and started to clean up her area. She threw away her garbage, pulled on her back pack and rolled up Ariel and Sebastian. I watched her as I waited for the trolley for a full 20 minutes, with an ever growing crowd of increasingly irritated people, before I realized that the blue light was flashing, indicating that the trolleys weren’t running. I left the station, but didn’t try to draw anyone else’s attention to the blue light and it’s meaning. It’s Philadelphia, people don’t take to kindly to strangers trying to tell them something, even if it could be helpful.

Yesterday I went to use the bathroom at about 2 o’clock and caught a look at myself in the mirror. Somehow the clothes that had looked so cute in my bedroom 7 hours before were not working anymore. My hair had parted itself down the middle and I had a smear of blue ink on my cheek. There was no hope for salvage, I needed to go home and start over.

I got an email yesterday from a guy named Mike who works at the 5 Spot in Old City. It seems his copy of Walmart: The High Cost of Low Price hadn’t arrived in time for their scheduled screening. He wanted to know if he could borrow mine. So, at 6:30 pm last night I was standing in front of my building, DVD in hand, waiting to pass it off to Mike, as he swung by in a cab. It was one of those moments that grassroots movements tend to inspire, a little extra trust and confidence in your fellow human.

Why is it that ordering a hot sausage from a food truck, a perfectly respectable (if slightly unhealthy) menu item, always leaves me feeling a little dirty?