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

[tempest-gypsy.livejournal.com]

Get the loft. Invite friends over occasionally for late night, loud fencing. Let your neighbors see you acting weird (well, weird to them, mnormal for you). Any time maintainence has to come in, act slightly cooky and rearrage your blade collection.
Kept me safe when I live in the ghetto for two years. I'm talking gun fights (two weapons of obviously different calibers in two different locations) right outside my building ghetto.
A thug gangsta who didn't live in the neighborhood was sitting on my front stoop with my neighbors when I went out one time. He started to start something when one of my neighbors pulled him back down and I heard a whispered, "Nah, man, that's the crazy white chick I told you about. Just leave her alone."

[ysobelle.livejournal.com]

Snerk. Yeah, I know. But it's the gunshot holes in the car this summer that did it for me. It may be stupid to walk Clue at 3am, but it's my kind of stupid.