Yesterday was the day I fell in love with Philly all over again. I had a lovely day, just walking around Center City, breathing in the easygoing street life. It was grey but not cold, and occasional light showers only added to my sense of urban nostalgia.

I walked along Antique Row, trying to find a gift for my hosts. In one little boutique, I was attended to by a beautiful, well-dressed black woman. The two of us were both overflowing with exuberance this day, but I suspect that in her case it was a permanent condition.

As I crossed the street, I was almost run over by an old geezer in a minivan, who attempted to run round the corner before I got into the intersection. He screamed to a stop, and my protests turned to laughter when I saw his helpless wife in the passenger seat mouthing "Sorry" and making "he's gone loco" hand signals to me.

A procession of soon-to-be Penn graduates

In the late afternoon, I worked out at 12th Street Gym, my old gym, with the guy I'd met the night before out at Woodies. It's a great gym, which really puts my own to shame. I ran into a familiar face - a good friend of Dougal's, my ex-roommate. I've lost touch with Dougal, so it was good to get his number from this guy. He was quite friendly considering how I treated him years ago. I had a private nickname for him, back then - I used to refer to him as Shirley Bassey, and somehow he found out about it, to my mortification.

Surprisingly, at one point when I was working out in a room which contained about four other gay guys, a general conversation sprung up involving the five of us - all complete strangers. It's pretty rare you feel a genuine sense of community like that in a gay space. At least in a space that isn't either filled with drugs or the presumed Holy Spirit. Mind, the conversation was about Cher, Michael Jackson and Elizabeth Taylor.

Afterwords, we (my friend from the night before and I) went for a quick bite of pizza. It was only the 2nd time I'd ever been to this pizza place. The first time was on one of the most momentous evenings of my life, the night I met the only guy I've ever fallen in love with, Shaun. This was about fourteen years ago. I'm just a little embarrassed, but perhaps also a little bit happy with my luck, that the cute guy I was having pizza with this time would have been all of nine years old at the moment I was having pizza with Shaun all those years ago.

Then, with much sadness, it was time to depart for New Jersey, where I'll be staying for four nights, doing some work with one of my company's customers. In the dusk, I headed over the Betsy Ross Bridge, into New Jersey. I soon had to pull over for gas, and I had to take back something I've often said about New Jersey - that there's nothing much to like about it. That's not the truth - there is one thing to like about it after all; mandatory full-service gas stations. What a luxury.