It’s been a great run for us here at Philly Mag in our longtime Center City home at 1818 Market Street. From our offices on the 36th floor, we’ve looked out across the city and seen so much: the panic after 9/11, the Phillies’ World Series parade, the Occupy Philly encampment, the Black Lives Matter protests, Pope Francis’s visit. We’ve stood in line (forever) at “our” post office at 21st and Chestnut. We’ve bought gyros from the street carts and cheese from Di Bruno’s and fruits and veggies from Sue’s. We shopped at Bonwit Teller and Daffy’s and Nordstrom Rack — all in the same place! We watched as the city evolved around us — as the Market Street porn corridor was torn down, as Vet Stadium imploded, as University City grew higher and higher, as the lights in the Inquirer building went dim. We oohed and aahed at a lot of sunsets. We worked late and looked out on seas of (electric) stars.
Now our computers and notebooks and staplers and pens are all in packing boxes, shipped from those comfy, familiar confines to new ones in the Curtis building on Washington Square, with all its rich publishing history. We’re excited. We’re trepidatious. We’re wondering: Where the hell are we supposed to buy lunch?
But you don’t stay in a city as long as we have — or write about one, either — because you’re timid. We’re looking forward to learning about our new neighborhood and neighbors, to discovering new-to-us treasures, and to sharing what we find with you. We’re on the second floor this time, which should put our noses even closer to the ground. We’ll be doing what we do best, what we’ve done for more than 100 years: uncovering the heart and soul of this city, its people and problems, its tragedies and triumphs, everything that makes Philly so singularly wonderful and infuriating at the same time. We’ll be right here when you need us. Email stays the same. Ditto our phones. Now if you’ll excuse us, we need a latte. There’s got to be a coffee joint somewhere around here, right?