(Not to be confused with Philadelphia Story and Paul Newman)
Listening to the city. A flock of friends supporting one of their own because someone’s done him wrong. Stone benches, arched boughs, a courtyard serving appropriately as a court of justice.
A man well dressed, middle-aged seeks justice from his cellphone. He’d sustained an injury in slipping on the snow outside a Pittsburgh hotel. He’s from this city though, and I wonder at the irony of reaching for to right the wrong from his choice of setting. A half hour later, two disconnections, and he lays the matter in his lawyer’s hands. He’s made his deposition. I, as jury, watch him walk away, no trace of injured knee; I am suspicious.
And God is in the streets of Pittsburgh for I’ve heard His name bandied about as I walk the streets to watch and look for nothing yet hear and see it all. He is a familiar here, I guess; perhaps acknowledged leader of the gang.
More to discover as the city opens itself up to a traveler from another type of town.
The Lost Children: A Charity Anthology