Philly, I love you.

We get in the car and start driving. ”Where are we going?” I asked.

Don’t worry about it.

We blaze under bridges and down the highway winding through the city. Exit on to another road, south on 95, and the city lights fade behind us. Suburbia.

The air feels more crisp here. It’s darker, quieter.

We stop in a small town to gorge ourselves on fried foods and let the sounds of the local football game wash over us. A brief reprieve from the sound and congestion as we stretch our road legs down darkened roads.

But the city calls. Back into the car to follow the highway lights home.

You can leave Philly, but it’s always calling you back.

January-5197