Tuesdays in Philly

It’s Tuesday in Philly and you can see the gray clouds hanging low. The whole city is covered in a dreariness - in a mist. The clouds are so low that the tops of the buildings are hidden. The people walk around in their black suits and their black pumps. There are some who sit on old milk cartons and overturned white buckets. The multicolor umbrellas rush about the sidewalks and dart across the street. The cars with their headlights honk indiscriminately and the men and women in tattered clothing sit with signs and empty fast food cups. A dog or two will be hidden behind duffel bags or walking with diamond collars. Steam rises from sewer vents and manhole covers. The potholes are filled with water and street lamps begin to come on. 

It’s Tuesday in Philly and I am on the other side of town. There are students heading to and from classes and people heading home. Bikes rush by faster than cars and women with children cross the street. There are old stone churches surrounded by chain fences and old stone churches surrounded by elaborate metal gates. There are fewer umbrellas here, but the darkness still hangs heavy. 

It’s Tuesday in Philly and I can hear the sound of friends chatting outside of the apartment. I can see the people I know gathering for a meeting. I am comforted by the orange glow of lights and the familiar places I see every Tuesday night. It’s time to go inside.

It’s Tuesday night in Philly and all the lights are on. It’s warm inside. There’s food on the table and grace is being said. We sit together and talk about the Word and about our lives. Later, we leave the comfort, both happy and sad. We return to the cold, oppressive mist. But we’re not all that bothered by this. We’re not sure what the week holds or even what the rest of the night might bring, but we know that next Tuesday is ahead of us. So, we return home.