But Call Me Betsy

But I'm stuck in Jersey for a little while longer, in this coffee/ice cream/bakery shop in a strip mall; a place that plays non-stop fifties music just this side of too loud. It's okay though, because it's closer to Dan's yoga studio, and I got my 750 words done this morning. Am suddenly working on this story about an introvert named Hazel. Isn't that a great, under-used for good reason name? Anyway, it's strange how you can start writing about something and then, if your write like me and just want to get words on a page, you find that there are other pieces to the story that you didn't plan out. Like, for instance, I started with Hazel having this unrequited crush on an attractive guy from work, and she's a little strange, so instead of trying to talk to him, she follows him home to find out where he lives. The next day, she calls out sick and goes back to his house and rings the bell. An old man answers (her crush's grandpa). She pretends she need...

I just discovered this morning that I can get to Northern Liberties on my creaky British-made bike from Shawn in less than ten minutes. It's a whole new world over here in Liberties Walk. Fishtown: One coffee shop that serves burnt coffee, has slow service, and plays the same whiny emo music over and over. NL: I'm sitting in Shot Coffee--a clean and friendly place that give you gigantic cups of good coffee and plays contemporary, slightly pop though nevertheless upbeat music. They have a bowl of water set out for the dogs that may visit with their people. Fishtown: Good luck tying your bike up to a dying and lonesome tree. NL: Bike rack. Fishtown: Stray, starved dogs roam the streets in ragged packs. Abandoned cats dart across the road. NL: Just petted the biggest, fattest black dog I've ever seen tied up outside one of the stores. He is obvioulsy too well-fed. Fishtown: Streets and curbs are lined with a thin layer of trash. NL: Wide streets, trees, and clean sidewalk...