Trolleying

Phil's neighborhood is bustling around the clock these days. Last weekend the Cooper-Young Festival had the streets teeming with cars looking for nooks and crannies into which they could shove their compact cars. Now it's the fair, two blocks from his house. Everyone's looking for free street parking so they can avoid the $7 parking fee at the official lots. Several of Phil's neighbors, not recognizing him pass by in my car (his car has sat unmoved all weekend to preserve its space) have waved to us, indicating empty spots in their yard marked with crude cardboard signs offering the real estate for a reasonable $5. Some people have even lined off spots in their yard with white spraypaint.

Entrepreneurs, all of them.

And, while the weather was absolutely perfect yesterday, we opted not to go to the fair as I had originally planned because we're both sort of lacking the funds it would take to go and have a good time. It's $5 to get in, but if you want to ride anything, you have to buy tickets. And it adds up. So I'd like to get a wristband ($20) and just ride and go as I please. So next weekend, maybe. Hopefully. 'Cause it'll be gone — possibly forever — after that. And when the fair is gone, when else am I going to get the chance to try a deep-fried Twinkie?

So instead of the midway, we left Midtown and spent the day downtown, first in Denny's using a coupon Phil got at work for a free entrée. Then we walked down to the trolley stop and plunked down a couple of bucks and made the loop down by the river. Phil had never been on the trolley before, and there couldn't have been a more beautiful day to ride in a rickety noisebox with the windows down, the sun warming the lacquered wooden benches just enough to offset the breeze in the shadows under the overpasses. It was quaint and lovely and everything you could ask for on the second day of autumn.