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Night Two: Ed
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I met Ed Weinburg outside his house at 9:30 Tuesday night. By 10 p.m., I had a mojito in my hand, made from fresh mint leaves from his parents' garden.
Ed quickly showed me my couch for the night, which was in his room. Incidentally, I was the first to sleep on it since he and his last couch surfer found it for free. It took them 45 minutes to lug it three blocks back to his house.
By 11 p.m., we stopped at a bar fittingly named Dirty Franks. I offered to buy the first round, but he objected.
"It's couch surfing tradition actually," Ed said. "I buy the first beer."
I couldn't argue with tradition. And so began Ed's tour of Philly.
11:48 p.m.: We arrived at another bar, perhaps filthier than the last, since someone had already vomited in the urinal of the men's room.
12:43: A guy bought us shots of Jameson and told us how he and his buddy "run shit in the Philly underground."
1:16: The bouncer, Jethro, found out I was writing an article. Before hearing what it was about, he began to tell me his life story.
1:28: Ed disappeared. I'm on my own.
1:32: Jethro told me how he once got a message from God telling him to go to New York City and become homeless. He told me he followed those orders for two years.
1:48: Ed returned, excited about something called a "City-Wide Special" at another bar.
1:53: I found out what the special is: a can of Pabst Blue Ribbon and a shot of Jim Beam. My excitement equaled Ed's.
1:57: We entered Bob and Barbara's, home of the special. We were the only ones there.
2:00: Although not verbally asked to leave, we got the hint.
2:18: Ed saw a Chinese restaurant open. We shared a plate of sweet and sour chicken. Keep in mind we'd known each other for five hours at that point.
2:35: "So, I'm trashed," Ed announced outside his house.
2:56: Ed shut off the lights and crawled in bed.
3:02: I scanned the room for pillows or blankets of any kind. Nothing. I rolled my smoke-scented sweatshirt into a ball and curled up.
I woke up at 8:30 a.m. to a cat licking my toes and the sun shining through the window. It felt like someone had chiseled a hole through my head and the inside of my mouth tasted stale.
For the second straight morning I haven't the slightest clue where I am, and the only familiar face is one I've known for less than twelve hours.
Breakfast cheesesteaks were in order. I never had one in Philly and certainly was not leaving without one. On the way, I asked Ed about something he said the night before. He said that couch surfing offers this channel to people that was never available before. It's sometimes difficult to make a connection with someone at a bar, in a city you don't know. There is something about offering up your couch or sleeping on someone else's that forces you to say, "Okay. I'm going to get to know this person and I want to know their city too."
I agreed. It amazed me that complete strangers could easily coexist within minutes of meeting each other. All because of a simple couch.
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