City of Meaderly Love

I crossed the bridge into Philly as the sun rose. I’d been driving all night. I had a vintage computer wrapped in a blanket, and an eager buyer on South Street. The sale would hopefully fund the rest of my trip, and be enough to get me started once I arrived.

“You got the fresh 96s?” “Yeah it’s right here,” I slammed the monitor on the car roof. “Now that’s antique, five dollars.” “Five dollars? I was expecting a little more.” “Nah five dollars, take it or leave it.” “Alright, fine.” Next someone walked up to me, and offered a bridge.

"Like over a river?" The guy shook his head, "No, a bridge in a song." This intrigued me. My wife wanted a serenade for her birthday & I had written a couple of nice romantic verses, but I had no bridge to shake up the mood. "Lemme hear your bridge," I said. He cleared his throat

aggressively. “Ol’ Man River,” he began, “keeps on riverin’.” I joined in. “Ol’ Man River, keeps on riverin!” The mood began to lighten. “Oh, Ol’ Man River, shiver me timber, lah di dah…” People looked at us like we were crazy, but we simply didn’t care.

We kept singing all throughout the night, no matter who or what tried to interfere. Thirty more people had joined us by the next morning, and none had even thought about leaving the merriment as we sang song after song. This carried on week after week, endlessly singing until the

the magical mead ran out and everyone settled into sobriety for the first time since the festival began. As the commotion died down I noticed what should have been obvious: everyone was naked except for red and green body paint. Then, over the loudspeaker: “assemble into tribes!”