When I was 13, I promised myself that I would live in a big city so I could sit in a cafe, read a book, and people-watch. There was just something so romantic and “sophisticated” about that dream, compared to reading a book in a dim, crumbling shanty with an overprotective mother and grandmother doting over my angsty teenage self.

Not wanting to forget the dreams of my youth, I took time today to find my own little corner of heaven at the Starbucks on 20th & Market in Philadelphia. As I was about to relish my overly decadent soy-based coffee drink (which the old-world Hungarian in me could only truly enjoy because of a trusty half-off coupon), I placed my copy of “Strangers in Paradise” down to take a good look at the beauty that is my Philadelphia. At that exact moment, some guy in a business suit vomited his entire lunch onto the tree next to me. Whatever he ate sure was…orange. My 13-year old self was not expecting that.