To Philadelphia, With Love (Photo 1):

I know New York does it bigger and better.  Portland does it cleaner and hipper.  Yet, there’s something very real about Philly.  She’s that girl that doesn’t get gussied up for the party, because there’s nothing to prove.  She knows her short coming.  She knows her beauty.  There’s no need to try to be anything more or less, because, damn it, it’s good enough and better isn’t going to be done with lipstick and rouge.  

So, I submit to you:  Photo one, in a developing series about all the things I love about this city.  Street performers make their mark here.  They stand in sanctioned “performance areas” in Market East station.  I’ve seen a preteen play Bach on the violin, any number of would be’s, wanna be’s and will be’s, and I’ve seen this guy, with a tray, shelved in plastic, turn out a chain or rhymes with the stunning appeal of a diamond bracelet on Jeweler’s Row.  The kids, arrested by the fact that anything can be made into music and someone can capture a crowd, can cause a good scene – they hang on his every word and beat.