Standing in the boutique that bears her name, Joan Shepp explains this among racks of Ann Demeulemeester tailored jumpsuits and Rick Owens draped jackets.
Throughout the 1980s, Giovanni’s Room had trouble with bricks. As the gay rights movement swelled and AIDS steadily ravaged the community, every now and then a single brick would come crashing through the bookstore’s front window.
I imagine he sits in a wood-paneled university library, the kind with bronze statues and painted portraits, thumbing crumbly pages, sipping spiced coffee.
John stepped out into the cold evening and sat down on the apartment building steps. The chilly concrete seemed to cut right through his thin khakis, but he only felt the sting from a distance.
Entering the studio, afternoon light pours through windows spanning two walls. Caroline Harrison hurries to the back corner of the room and emerges from behind easels and canvases with several damp watercolor paintings.
As she hauls in a box of dusty Motown records, the DJ formerly known as Condom Lady situates herself inside the WPEB studio preparing for her Saturday afternoon radio show.
It is a positively blustery November evening. Sitting in cramped room 121 of Sansom Place East, members of Penn’s Medical Emergency Response Team sit and wait for a call that will alter the course of the night’s heretofore quietude.
“Requesting medical assistance: injured female at Sansom Place West between 36th and 37th Streets.” Almost instantaneously, the three EMTs on duty leap to their feet.
Remember Penn back in the day? When guys wore three-piece suits to class, gals were few and far between and rooms in the Quad were equipped with crockery?
The crowds at the Uhuru Flea Market are relatively light on the last Saturday in September. With the weather beginning to turn, the usual stream of students and local residents who peruse cheap jewelry and used books in Clark Park each month is slowing to a trickle.
A few Penn students meander between mugs wishing the buyer a “Happy Baby Mama Day” and a stall offering homemade soaps in scents like mango and pumpkin.
So you’re a freshman. We get that, we’ve all been there. You made it through NSO alive, you are way too afraid to change your classes around (your schedule is set), and you think your hallmates are pretty cool.