Since 17 or 18 years old, my friends and I would travel down from Central Jersey to spend a weekend couch surfing, going to shitty punk shows in moldy basements under abandoned factories, and freeloading on South St. as if no one else had done it. I spent years getting to know the cobblestones of Old(e) City, the shady areas near Temple, hearing of violent nightmares at the intersection of Girard & Frankfurt Ave., and thought "fuck, I could live here." Philly seemed a very manageable place. It helped that my cousin started going to UArts and he was always as close as a brother to me. I loved our first stained-carpet apartment, mouse-infested walls, and sharing the space with him, Kerr & Venie...for about two weeks. The honeymoon period in Philly varies from person to person. I quickly learned the attitude of Philadelphians; basically, a popular phrase of current vernacular "gives no fucks" was created here, because that's exactly how Philly operates. Need to save a parking spot? Put a folding chair in it. Trash? Toss it in the storm drains. Dog shit? Just leave that anywhere. Not to mention that same year the city was nicknamed "Killadelphia" thanks to an escalated homicide rate. Yes, Philly was rough. When leaving my boss at the time said I'd return. "Everyone comes back to Philadelphia." This fucking guy LITERALLY said everybody comes back here. I thought he was bitter and nuts. Nope. He was right, twice.
Eric H., from "Untitled" (from 215: Our Hearts Belong to Philadelphia)