I arrived in Philly around 7pm, where I was due to meet Jess, a friend from home who had been, as I later found out, working in what could only be described as a Jewish slut-camp in New York State. Unfortunately Jess and the friends she was with were running late. I decided that the best place to wait was around the town hall, right in the heart of Philadelphia. That turned out to be a bad decision. It seemed that “around the town hall” was also a convenient hangout for every one of the city’s pimps, crack-rats and drug runners. Every person I encountered appeared to be either running from something or waiting for something. And what’s more; I didn’t meet another white person. I felt obvious, and it was unsettling.
Eventually I cracked and went to sit in a Wendy’s around the corner. Soon enough, I was deep in conversation with a man who referred to me as “da whyte kid” to his friends, and had a comb embedded in his perfect ‘fro. He was also wearing his jeans around his bum and walked with the kind of swagger only a man with an immaculate ‘fro can have. He said he had always wanted to go to Liverpool and that he imagined it was similar to Philadelphia. I said it wasn’t really, and he broke into a smile.
Jess arrived, and we hugged. The entirety of that ghetto Wendy’s checked her out as we strolled out the door. I think I even clocked a two-syllabled “daaaa-ym” in there somewhere.