Last week, when I stood on the platform waiting to take the train east out of Lancaster, I felt like a country boy heading to the big city. And maybe I was. When you grow up running through endless cornfields at dusk and stomping through creeks in the heavy heat of summer and exploring the haunted corners of hay mows while off in the distance you hear your mother calling you in for dinner, it kind of sticks in your blood.
I felt that way when I first started working in Philadelphia eleven years ago. A hick from the Midwest who flew into Philadelphia International and then caught a train to the office in downtown. And then, for the rest of the week there, took trains back and forth between downtown and Chestnut Hill. Always a bit out of place, but enjoying being in the big city with its bustle and restaurants and live music and...
I felt that way when I first started working in Philadelphia eleven years ago. A hick from the Midwest who flew into Philadelphia International and then caught a train to the office in downtown. And then, for the rest of the week there, took trains back and forth between downtown and Chestnut Hill. Always a bit out of place, but enjoying being in the big city with its bustle and restaurants and live music and...
I can relate. I even like Rohr.