January 9, 2004 - Fire in Philly

But as unhappy as I'd been at my Old City job, I never would have wished anyone there harm. This was why I watched the newscast anxiously, trying to find out if the fire would spread to other nearby buildings. Fortunately, it did not.

News was sparse last night, but today's Philadelphia Inquirer has a fuller story about the fire. The business had apparently been around for 50 years, and owner Ron Friedman is understandably devastated.

Since I was in Center City this morning anyway, I decided to walk by and check out the damage. The street was covered with road salt, in an attempt to melt the water that had frozen after being used to fight the fire.

The workers, apparently there to clean up, seemed to be on a break, casually chatting in the street. Every once in awhile, they threw me a funny glance.

I wasn't the only casual spectator. Just as I was leaving, I heard a young guy behind me mumble under his breath, "That took 15 minutes?" He had apparently been watching the workers and was upset with their progress.

This struck me as a suspicious comment, so I made a mental note of his appearance. Just in case.

He was about mid-20s and had a pale, puffy sort of heart-shaped face, with light colored hair. He was wearing a turquoise ski jacket with black stripes and carrying a plastic bag jammed full, it seemed, of papers.

It was a cold morning and I had to be going or miss my train back home. The suspicious onlooker was walking in the same direction, so I stayed about half a block behind him and watched to see if he exhibited more suspicious behavior.

He stopped to look in a stamp and rare coins shop window, and as he did, a pigeon flying at head height swooped down the street, heading straight for my face. I had to duck to avoid it.

I found myself imagining a mystery story with an investigator tracking down an arsonist who has trained pigeons which, I imagine, end up having something to do with the mystery.

I'd lost track of the suspicious onlooker, which was just as well, considering that it's generally bad practice to follow suspicious men.

Musings an Online Journal of Sorts By Alyce Wilson
January 9, 2004 - Fire in Philly
	Watching the news last night, I was struck by a breaking news story. A fire was ravaging a building in Old City, in the very neighborhood where I worked when I first moved to Philadelphia. I tried vainly to figure out which building was which from the helicopter shot on TV. All they said was that the fire was confined to the building that housed Friedman's Umbrellas, a business well-known for its red, white and blue sign featuring the slogan "Free rain with every umbrella." I remember seeing that sign on my way to work in the mornings, smiling wryly and saying to myself, "Wish I worked for someone like that, who has a sense of humor."
But as unhappy as I'd been at my Old City job, I never would have wished anyone there harm. This was why I watched the newscast anxiously, trying to find out if the fire would spread to other nearby buildings. Fortunately, it did not. News was sparse last night, but today's Philadelphia Inquirer has a fuller story about the fire. The business had apparently been around for 50 years, and owner Ron Friedman is understandably devastated. Since I was in Center City this morning anyway, I decided to walk by and check out the damage. The street was covered with road salt, in an attempt to melt the water that had frozen after being used to fight the fire. The workers, apparently there to clean up, seemed to be on a break, casually chatting in the street. Every once in awhile, they threw me a funny glance. I wasn't the only casual spectator. Just as I was leaving, I heard a young guy behind me mumble under his breath, "That took 15 minutes?" He had apparently been watching the workers and was upset with their progress. This struck me as a suspicious comment, so I made a mental note of his appearance. Just in case. He was about mid-20s and had a pale, puffy sort of heart-shaped face, with light colored hair. He was wearing a turquoise ski jacket with black stripes and carrying a plastic bag jammed full, it seemed, of papers. It was a cold morning and I had to be going or miss my train back home. The suspicious onlooker was walking in the same direction, so I stayed about half a block behind him and watched to see if he exhibited more suspicious behavior. He stopped to look in a stamp and rare coins shop window, and as he did, a pigeon flying at head height swooped down the street, heading straight for my face. I had to duck to avoid it. I found myself imagining a mystery story with an investigator tracking down an arsonist who has trained pigeons which, I imagine, end up having something to do with the mystery. I'd lost track of the suspicious onlooker, which was just as well, considering that it's generally bad practice to follow suspicious men.
Moral: Pigeons aren't that scary until they're flying right at your face. Copyright 2004 by Alyce Wilson Musings Index
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