A Daydream on Elm Street

Like most people who live in the middle of a major city, I suffer through the often exhausting love-hate relationship with it. Philly is a great town, occasionally even a spectacular one. Spring and summer weekends are awash with festivals, farmer's markets, outdoor concerts and movie screenings. Al-fresco dining along tree-lined streets and colorful parks, green enough to be from Oregon, can be found in every neighborhood. It's a truly vibrant place, alive with a life energy in the air strong enough to taste. 

Just when you've snuggled up nice and close to it though, supremely confident that your assured embrace will continue endorsing your peace of mind, Philly will paw swipe at you unexpectedly like a feral cat buried in a pile of goose down pillows. Whether it's an afternoon shooting in front of your favorite bar, an early morning serial strangler who strikes from behind, or a teenage flash mob flooding a commercial street with fists-a-flying, the City of Brotherly Love will routinely remind you she loathes living up to that name.