Norah Rami

If you are reading this, you’re probably a little bit of a weirdo. That, or whoever gave you this magazine most definitely is. I referenced Lewis Carroll’s Alice in Wonderland in my application to be Street’s editor–in–chief last December.

Style Whether you love the women or the sports, Marsha’s has space for everyone. At 3 p.m. on a Saturday, the bar at Marsha’s is completely full. Killing Eve plays on one screen, Auburn University football on another, and the rest of the TVs broadcast the Philadelphia Flyers beating the New York Islanders 4–3. At the center of all the screaming and chatter is a portrait of Marsha P. Johnson beneath a gay American flag, watching over Philly’s newest sports bar like a patron saint.

I woke up with a start at the beginning of this summer. I had dreamt that a human–sized pig saved my life and then looked me in the eyes to say: “Please don’t eat me and my friends.” Thus began the summer I turned kosher. I grew up in a family full of superstitions—though I’ll admit the lines between superstition and religion are difficult to cleanly draw. My family was never one for dogma, but they would take any and every precaution against the unknown forces of the universe.