Which of these venerable, beloved by artists (and thus too costly for most), old streets came first?
Philly’s Old City, where I sit now (in a cafe I already love)?
Or its jealous cousin in my hometown?
I suspect the latter, due to the Dutch assault on the Lenape land predating the days of William Penn.
However, both bow down to their ancestor above, in the country of *my* particular forefathers. I’d love to live there too.
One thought on “older cities of dreams”
Older cities do have a certain pulse in their bricks, which even I do sometimes miss in this land of pastel stucco structures growing out of hills. One of the things I found endearing about Seattle was it’s mix of West Coast-ness and “east Coast” brick along the docks.