Now that the weather is lightening up, I am trying to get out for a long walk every day. I’ve been living in the same part of Philadelphia for twenty years now, in walking distance from Center City (what we call our downtown) and it becomes automatic to walk to this intersection, turn left at that one under the pedestrian bridge, walk those blocks past the Art Museum and Whole Foods, and turn down either the Parkway or a numbered street and arrive at one or the other of my usual destinations.
My destination today was Rittenhouse Square, one of the four squares arranged equally distant from one another around City Hall. It’s the busiest square, surrounded by restaurants, lordly townhouses, and high-rent apartment buildings, it’s supported by a nonprofit, and there’s always something going on–craft fairs, galas, a farmer’s market, and, when it’s not too cold, buskers.
Sometimes the performers are merely adequate, like the skinny guy who mimes being Michael Jackson or some blurry gentleman strumming a guitar and crooning, and other times you get people with beautiful instruments practicing their craft. The Curtis Institute, one of the best music schools in the country, is around the corner.
The guy performing today at the front of the park was a saxophonist, a matter-of-fact gentleman in black khakis and a sweatshirt, accompanied by a boom box, playing soft jazz.
The square was busy, and most of the benches were full, but I found a seat nearby, and listened in the sunlight. After a while, I hauled out my iPhone and sketched him, using an app called Procreate Pocket. After he finished a few numbers, I went over and used the QR code to Venmo him five bucks for the performance.
He had a hanger-on, a guy who wasn’t connected to him but wanted to be, who kept trying to engage him in improbable conversation, but the performer acknowledged his sallies politely and kept playing. Most people strolled past and didn’t put money in his basket or stop to use the QR codes, though they often smiled.
I used to know someone we called the Duck Lady who spent a lot of time in the park; we called her that because she kept erupting in quacking sounds. Philadelphia has lots of steam vents in the sidewalk in Center City, and a fair number of people sleeping on top of them when it gets cold, because no one wants to go to the shelters. Philadelphia also has a lot of people with money and security, and everything in between, and somehow we mostly all manage to coexist without too much trouble.
The busker got to a stopping point; he wasn’t done, but he was checking his phone to see if he had gotten any donations, so I got up and showed him the sketch. He was delighted that I had done it, and wanted to know what app I used. I told him and then strolled off to go to the grocery store and home, having had my outing. On the way to the store, I checked off “Walk” in my list of daily tasks.
I am so extremely retired.
