A tiny piece of myself, all over Philadelphia.
The cidery that once operated here was not integral to my story. Pam's best friend (and PoYB contributor) Britt worked there for a spell, maybe a couple years, so we'd go on occasion. I recall Pam being very pregnant with Martha and us getting the crew together here for one last time before we became a two-child household. Also met here after book club one time, pretty loaded, held a baby Willow, not my proudest moment. We were also there for the final day of its existence, there to say goodbye to a place I had existed in a few times, here and there. I forgot to close my tab, and couldn't pick it up the next day, because the doors were boarded up.
I wouldn't say that the cidery was special to me—I don't even remember its name!—but I'll think about it every time I pass this intersection. That's what I mean when I say that there is a piece of me all over this city. I am everywhere at once, in my memory.
Tonight, I placed a piece of myself in the bar across the street. I recognized the french fries—99% certain they were delivered to the cidery at one point. All these pieces of me live on forever.
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