Not even close. This town has a great park life. Almost feels like that Cheever story, but instead of swimming through pools, we’re skipping across parks.
PARK LIFE BY ERIC DEPRIESTER 34THPARALLEL MAGAZINE ISSUE 30
It hit us at the sandwich shop, at the Pittsburgh style slophouse serving stacks overstuffed with coleslaw, French fries, and your choice of grease-laden meat, insisted upon by our visitor, the Pittsburgh native who had come to define himself by his home city, his resolve only strengthening with evidence to the contrary, with naysayers and haters and passersby who’ve never even been in the city proper—he was the one who wanted these sandwiches. We deferred to his temporary status in the city, in our city, and allowed him the choice of eatery, despite the daunting, morbid spread of pastrami, fried potatoes, and whatever the hell else they could cram in there. Midway through the thing, I felt full of juice, really reeling and ready to hit the streets, at least for a smoke, mayb…