Any Given Sunday in the City
I went on a quick trip into the city today. I planned to buy some acrylic markers and printmaking paper. I never did make it to the art store. I wound up walking around taking photos. Technically, that was also part of the plan.
On the train over, I sat next to a kid who was talking too loudly on the phone about how he and all his gang had been arrested over the weekend. He listed out the various charges he was facing, including possession of a firearm during the commission of a felony, and noted that many of the others were still locked up, with some looking at 10 to 20 years minimum if convicted. He thinks they were set up by some of the other guys in their set. Personally, I think he talks too much, and he’ll be in even worse trouble if he doesn’t button it.
I got off the train at Franklin Square Station for the first time ever. It had been closed for as long as I can remember, and I can remember a long ways back. It was a mystery station used as storage space for almost 50 years. I now understand why. It’s an awful location. There’s nothing there but the square, which is surrounded by highways. It’s a terrible spot to get out unless you want to go to the Chinese Lantern Festival, which I do!
It was a quiet Sunday in town, with the city on its best behavior. Nobody threatened me. I was only accosted by a chugger once. I saw a single discarded syringe on the sidewalk—and it was still in the wrapper. I ran into a half-dead drug addict nodding out in front of children at a historical landmark and downtown tourist attraction, but he was the only one.1
On the other hand, the poop situation wasn’t so great. I spied one human turd on the sidewalk, another on a ledge (parkour!), and two more ploppers on the subway platform for a grand total of four deuces. That was pretty gross.
Heading home, I found the entrance to the 16TH ST PATCO station reeking of piss and shit and filled with hundreds and hundreds of flies.2 In the midst of the swarm, pairs of addicts staked out the bottom of the steps. By which I don’t mean to say there were a couple of junkies at the foot of the steps I happened to go down. Oh no. They were at each and every stairwell. Always in pairs. I don’t know what that’s about.
The train to Lindenwold wouldn’t arrive for another 28 minutes, so I left the utter filth of 16TH ST station and walked down to the 9TH, because it’s usually a little cleaner. On the 9TH ST concourse, I encountered a very gay fella very high on what I take to be meth. He seemed harmless enough, and it’s none of my business, but all the same, IMHO, I think he should wear pants. Also, and not to be judgmental about it, I could live without people smearing human feces all over the walls. I find it distasteful.3
On the train ride home, I watched an addict repeatedly nod off in his seat in the car opposite.4 He’d jolt awake long enough to take a puff from his vape, then return to his stupor. Nod. Jolt. Vape. Nod. Jolt. Vape. And so on.
I love the suburbs. I really do.
A Note on Posting Frequency and the Newsletter
I’ve slowed down on the blogging a bit. I’m doing an experiment for all of August in which I shut my computers off every evening at six o’clock. It’s not a total screen blackout. I can still use my phone, read books on my iPad, and watch YouTube on my TV.
As a computer professional, I am at a computer for about ten to twelve hours a day. It’s maddening. Turning the damn thing off in the evenings has been lovely. Absolutely lovely. But it does limit the time available to write blog posts, work on digital photographs, and all that stuff. I will try to post more here, but they’ll be shorter, and I don’t think I’m going to bother maintaining the newsletter much longer. It’s not getting enough traffic to merit the investment in time and energy (not to mention money).
I do post updates on my Mastodon account. Maybe I’ll set up a Bluesky account and post updates there for people who don’t use Mastodon. I don’t know. I don’t like social media, and this isn’t a business or anything, so I have no incentive to promote it. Maybe you just check in once in a while if it occurs to you, and that’s probably enough.
Footnotes
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I did see a dozen more of the walking dead around town, but they weren’t actively traumatizing toddlers. ↩
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Flies like it stinky. ↩
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I’m just kidding. I didn’t taste it. ↩
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My dear suburban friend,5 there is no clinical language or euphemism that will ameliorate their suffering. Softening our language does little kindness, and serves at best as a device to put some distance between ourselves and the reality of our plight. ↩
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From the safety of the suburbs, the suffering and violence in the cities tend to be academic matters. Stories in the news. Something you might see on your way to the theater and later regale friends with over coffee. A philosophical matter to debate online. No more real than any other TikTok on your feed. ↩