Whimper.

[ysobelle]

I saw the loft today. The loft of my dreams. It's 1500sf of light-drenched space, with a wall of South-facing windows, a quirky, bowed hardwood floor, endless cathedral ceilings crossed by huge old beams, a washer-dryer hookup, an enormous bathroom, a kitchen twice the size of mine, and a glorious exposed-brick wall to frame views of Philadelphia from the Benjamin Franklin Bridge all the way across the entire city skyline. It's got remote-controlled access to the parking lot. It's got a dog run.

It's also at 5th and Cecil B. Moore.

Sigh. I took Mom with me, and while we both fell in love with the unit-- the penultimate of the six or so we saw-- we were both freaked out slightly by the no-man's-land of the neighbourhood: vacant lots, burned-out buildings, all that. I was told it's Northern Liberties, but it's not-- it's just plain North Philly, and it's NOT a safe place at ALL. I could probably grit my teeth and do it, but my Dad said, "I'd worry about you every night."

"I have a dog!"

"I'd worry about the dog, too!"

I want a loft now, though. I want one badly. Perhaps outside the city, to the West, if I could. But where? Or maybe a house, with a yard for Clue. Again, though-- where? Sigh.

Comments

[ysobelle.livejournal.com]

I know. My parents did exactly that when they built their home. By the time I was old enough to grok the environment, it had already improved greatly. But one of the reasons I want out of here is because it's not terribly safe, and I don't like that. I like being able to walk my dog late at night without feeling like I have to carry a gatling.