I'm Major Jackson and this is the Slow Down.

Last year I visited my own neighborhood.

I've flown in to receive an alumni award from Central High School of Philadelphia.

Go Lancers!

I have not lived in Philly in many years, but I've maintained a long affection for the

city of Myber.

So whenever I'm in town, I prefer to rent a car and idly drive it streets.

I almost always drive along the glittering school kill river, almost always return to

the majestic Philadelphia Museum of Art to view the artworks of Elizabeth Catlett, Marcel

Duchamp, Saitoambley.

And most definitely, return to patronize my favorite partisserie in all the world.

A low ceiling, cozy room with metal cafe chairs and small round tables, hitting off

Chestnut Hills Cobbled Germantown Avenue.

Whenever I enter the French bakery, yes, that's this name, that rich buttery aroma, those

fresh baked goods coax me further into its haven.

My mouth instantly waters at the site of pastries and fresh bread beneath the glass case.

During wintery days, the oven warms both the small restaurant and its loyal customers

who patiently wait in line.

As a teenager, me and some friends would pretend to do homework in a corner after school

while drinking hot chocolate and eating croissants.

On this most recent trip, regrettably, I was greeted with a locked door.

Inside the lights were out and the glass case emptied.

...