"Better," she said, tucking her arm into his. "Let’s go find a better backdrop. I hear the bridge looks like diamonds this time of night."
The neon sign for "Dirty Frank’s" flickered, casting a bruised purple glow over the rain-slicked pavement of Pine Street. Inside, Elias sat at the far end of the bar, his hands—calloused from forty years of restoring South Philly rowhomes—wrapped around a glass of neat rye. mature pics philly
At sixty-five, Elias wasn’t looking for a "scene." He was looking for a memory. "Better," she said, tucking her arm into his