Cruising down Ridge after picking up at a burger spot on Girard in Fairmount I’d never been to.

Neither the burger spot, nor the neighborhood.

Ridge ran SSE from Philly’s NW corner to its SE.

Cut diagonally across the grid.

Hypotenuse-d the grid.

Went against the one-way flow discouraging folks from outer hoods from entering.

Allowed someone out of the game, off in the northwest corner, near Strawberry Mansion and other wastelands up there, to get back in with relative ease.

Like, say, a bike courier blown off course, out into the outer reaches of Fairmount.

He could get back in the game.

What I’m saying is I fuck with Ridge.

The burgers were for someone in a hotel / convention center–type place on Broad.

Some event going on, in the lobby.

Folks dressed fancy but also some with name tags.

Seemed lit but possibly professional.

On my way up, two girls about my age followed me into the elevator.

Both falling over themselves / catching each other.

I stood in front of them so they wouldn’t be weirded out by me standing behind them.

Kept my earbuds in and eyes forward.

On floor three of five, removed the burger bag from the Postmates bag inside my messenger bag.

Lil greased but not too bad.

Seen worse.

On floor five, as I was exiting, one girl yelled “Where you going? Come party!”

I turned back and caught a glimpse of what looked to be one of the girls undressing the other, untying her dress’s neck strap, behind the closing elevator doors.

Six months ago, last August, V had been living out here. In Philly. With me and roomie bro.

He’d pulled up for the three-month, seasonal stint.

Working as a compost pickup driver.

Working on our follow-up mixtape to the previous summer’s.

Roomie bro even hopped on a track.

Then we got into a fight about dishes and tidiness.

We’d been splitting a room with a makeshift divider down the middle, tryna stretch out the weed bands we’d saved the previous fall.

The money I’d chosen to spend cohabitating with V rather than with ex bae, whom I’d followed out to Philly, and who had just started grad school.

Shit got too close.

He tried to tell me how to live, to mom me, I told him fuck off, then he dropped a diss track clearly taking shots at me, that I heard on SoundCloud even though he was upstairs when he posted it. I sneered at him next I saw him, leaving for his 4 a.m. composting shift, and told him Bro you got it twisted. I don’t know what you think this is. But it ain’t that. We ain’t in a relationship bruh, stay in your fkng lane.

He copped a plane ticket back to Cali the next day.

When I got back to the elevator, I pressed the down button. The door dinged.