The shadows normally cast by the enormous skyscrapers were faded in the overcast December day. My best friend and I, driving into Philly through the congested freeway, looked over the city with elation. We parked in a damp parking garage and rushed down numerous flights of stairs with families and couples, people living their normal lives, people who were strangers, but who shared the same mood as me, allowing them to become familiar. We entered the populated streets. Philadelphia was washed in gray. Everything, the buildings, the lights, the signs, the people, were swallowed by it. We found a market squeezed between two bland, mundane pieces of urban architecture. The market’s exterior made it look small and unimpressive. The wind blew us through the doors and as we stepped in, its warm lighting and temperature provided relief from the cold and gray of the outside. We were deceived by its outside appearance, the food market was colossal. My friend had to link arms with me to remain together through the mass of people buying and selling food, eating, drinking, and talking; the mood carried me contentedly through the walkways and in between shops. My ears were filled by the noise of people but also music. It was blasting from the speakers where people were performing at the center of the market. The beat and the rhythm carried itself throughout every inch of the building. The noise was just as compressing as the crowds, but I enjoyed the chaos. After eating we reluctantly left, and succumbed to the cold again. Driving home, my memory remains a blur of lights and black outlines of the skyscrapers fading behind me.