The Ghost of Broad Street
Twenty-five years after leaving town, our writer,
who grew up in Logan, came back to walk all 13 miles of our grandest boulevard. The landmarks
he remembered are largely gone, but it’s still a
street overflowing with stories, dreams and danger
The cell phone rings. My brother wants to know if I made it through North Philly unscathed, and if I have, would I please pick him up a secondhand black Swedish poncho at I. Goldberg.
“The bad news is that I. Goldberg has moved.”
“Moved? Damn. What’s the good news?” he asks.
“Nothing ever goes the way you planned. Sometimes, it works out better.”
“Wanna split a Lee’s Hoagie Supreme?”
“Naw. I want a whole one for myself.”
