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Two and a half years ago I came to Minneapolis and slipped it on my body like a well worn patchwork jacket and have yet to take it off. Streets and Alleys run down my back like crazy seams, I trace my fingers across their frayed edges. Every winter I pull out my heavy jacket and pul it on - the hem brushing at my calfs and my hands slide into the pockets. An old receipt, a ticket stub, things I put there, things that are mine. A button, a bit of string, twenty-five cents and a penny. These are treasures I find. Every time I slip my hands into this city I find something new and something wonderful. A person, a club, a diner, a new side of things. When I came to Minneapolis, it took me in as one of its own. Since the first day Mike sat me down and drew out the grid of the city, the intersections of 494, 35W, 94, 694, 100, the crosstown, Uptown, Downtown, Frogtown, Dinkytown, my town.

I flew into San Francisco for the first time last month, and I have never seen the city from the air before, and never at night. It was nothing like flying into Sacramento, Minneapolis, or Green Bay - the cities I'm so used to seeing from high above. It was brilliant - nothing but light as we flew in, outlined only by the dark water that is the Pacific. It was completely foreign to me, but not at all scary. My mother was sure that the moment I set foot in San Francisco, the city - as a whole - was going to rape me, mug me, pound me into the ground and steal my money. Instead, I felt the same welcoming feel that Minneapolis offered me. Pockets of knicknacks, frayed seams and lose change. I fell into the rhythm of BART, Mission St, the traffic, the herds of people walking en masse down Powell, it was as comfortable as any piece of clothing.

I love cities. I love how they feel - alive as the people who are in them. They are tempermental, like pets, choosing who they like and who they don't.

I feel torn. I love this town and all it has to offer me, the safety I have in known it like I know the passages of my favorite book, and the knowledge that there is more for me to find. But the adventure of a new city eats away at me. New streets to learn, bus routs to memorize, strangers to meet. Minneapolis isn't holding me back, but rather I'm doing that myself. I need a new challenge and a new city. And, I think, it's time to move back to California. If only for a while.
 
 
 
 
 
 
*sniff*

that was so beautiful :)
Wow.

That was well written.

*packs bags to move to a city*

:-)
Yeah buddy!
So this question begs to be asked:

If a city is a piece of clothing...and you can pick people out of your pockets.......
why isn't the world a lot darker and less breathable?
and
how much would that suck to be sitting at a cafe and be picked out of thin air up into oblivion?
or
how much would it rule to see an entire city block raise, suspended by some giant god-like hand?
finally
if the city is in your pocket, are you the god of the city? Are you that people's god? American Gods? Odin?!!?!
1) depends on how big the pocket is. Aren't we, after all, just in a pocket of the universe?

2) It would be AWESOME

3) it would kick all and total ass

4) We never truly own coats, they own the wearer. Think about THAT!
1) Indeed. It is a large, weightless pocket. Which means that either the owner of the pocket is falling at very high speeds, or that this universe actually only takes up very little space, and indeed might be surrounded by other universes. How to get to those other universes...that is the question.

2) Yeah....yeah it would.

3) I can only imagine myself laughing at that. I am picturing me standing on a sidewalk outside of some place or another and then looking to the right and seeing this massive hand picking up the adjacent block, people screaming, their faces twisted in fear and in the screams that their mouths are exuding. And I'd sit there and laugh. Because it would be funny. Because Hitler was a giant fuckhead....oh wait...wrong reference.
4) So...if coats own the wearer...than either coats are a mind control device propogated by the bigwigs at the heads of the major coat companies, or the coats so possess these people that they do their bidding. Now, the people that sell the coats get money...what do the coats get? Activity. It's a mutual relationship. But then...it's quite a tragic story. Some unwitting human creates the first coat(and probably not unwittingly...he or she was probably just cold!), and unbeknownst to him or her, the coat comes to posess that individual. Truly tragic.
Wow...That's a beautiiful piece of prose.

And I know what you mean... I've only moved cities twice (to Sheffield, and then back to London), but I can relate to the feeling entirely.