Pittsburgh

Found in Blick am Abend, on the seat next to me on the tram ride home yesterday: As for Game Six, Let's Go Pens!!

Eight years, nineteen days ago, I arrived in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, in a convoy from Atlanta consisting of a ten-foot cargo truck and a slightly battered green ‘95 Honda Civic with about ninety thousand miles on it, and moved into a seven hundred square foot third-floor walk-up with central air one block off Walnut in Shadyside with my fiancée.

Every so often, I run a 5k. By “every so often,” I mean “about once a year.” This one 5k is pretty much all the running I do, outside, of course, of the occasional Four Concourse Dash at Atlanta Hartsfield-Jackson International.

On my return from Tucson tonight, I walked, as usual, straight from the gate to the taxi stand, because while the 28X (see all previous grumbling about the Port Authority) is perfectly serviceable for a ride from my office (which it stops right in front of) to the airport (which it stops right in front of), it’s certainly not worth waiting for at midnight for the privilege of spending an hour on the bus and forty minutes walking home.

It’s a good thing that Pittsburgh’s hockey team is better than its public transit system, because otherwise I’d be in a mood. Things I won't miss about the Port Authority: Bus trunking.