A/N: Okay, so DC Nixon and ICanSeeYourFace are back with a new story, Cedar Park. We were basically talking, and the proposed Jess-in-Cali spin off came up, and all of a sudden we were talking about how there should have been a Jess-in-Philly spin off in stead. This is it. Jess in Philadelphia, starting from... Well, you'll see. Enjoy and leave us a little love in the form of a review. We love reviews.

Note: Both DC Nixon and ICanSeeYourFace have written many kick-ass Gilmore Girls stories on their personal fanfiction accounts, so if you like this one then give their solo works a go. Link to those accounts and stories can be found on TheRealDodger profile page under fav stories/fav authors.

Disclaimer: Do not own

Yes. Someone I know once said that the safest answer involving you or your best friend was 'no', but I find it to be 'yes'. Every question you could ask me would get a yes. Yes, I ran away. Yes, from you. Yes, I was being a mean, spineless punk. Yes, you may hate me for it. Yes, I loved you. So I ran, fled to the other coast, to Cali, to the man that fathered me, to whatever was there. A different sea greeted me, and the heat cooked me in my leather jacket. Cali was new, and so foreign, but I managed to pick up some things. Like the fact that your father isn't really the father you need when you see him for the first time when you're 18. That said, it's not impossible for him to be cool and manage to make an otherwise lame job fun. I picked up skateboarding again, because it was faster than running. And because I needed my book back.

But even on the opposite coast you came to me. Little reminders, blue and books and fries, and I wilfully ignored them, letting my nicked board take me faster through the jammed boardwalks. I knew I should shed skin, leave behind you and everything from that Town. Starting with my stupid jacket. Who in their right mind persists on wearing a leather jacket round the clock in Cali in June? But I couldn't. Couldn't let go of anything. It was you. You and Them and Us. Subsect.

So I turned back. Trailed the country in a shabby greyhound bus with my duffel bag. I even took the scenic route, pretending to be Kerouac-esque, with Springsteen wailing in my ears. The closer I got, the more I got the feeling I couldn't go all the way. Seams ripped open somewhere in Kentucky, and once I entered Pennsylvania I couldn't go any further. "The highway's jammed with broken heroes", Springsteen sang to me, as I hitchhiked my way from Pittsburgh to Philadelphia. I wouldn't say jammed, 'cause I felt like the only one out there.

He'd been in Philadelphia no more than two hours, and Jess already felt like this was a city that wouldn't make him feel awkward and out of place. Cali had been hot, and his dad's house had been like the California version of Stars Hollow cramped into one little house. Plus dogs. Rabid dogs that never seemed to recognize him, even after his second week there. He even said goodbye, a good proper goodbye with words and promises and comforting Lily, who wouldn't let go of his leg. He left her his copy of Oliver Twist and promised to call. After he left he'd tried to stay in a couple of cities, but Denver felt uneasy, Bluff City had too much of a cowboy vibe for him and he only stayed in Nashville for five hours before the country music almost made his ears bleed. But Philly was different, the air was cool, and the park bench he was sitting on let him revert into his world of writing. He'd been jotting down stuff all the way from California, and only now had he managed to make it coherent. "Must be Philly…" he thought to himself.

A chilly breeze made him shiver, so he rose from his bench and began wandering the streets in search of a decent coffee. Five blocks away he found something that didn't look bad, and entered. Inside it was homey, and he had to fight back the memory flashes of Luke's. It was fairly empty inside, an old lady by the door, two guys in the corner. Jess took a seat by the window, close to the counter and took out his small legal pad and a pen and began writing down bits and pieces of the train of thought he had had going on the park bench.

"Can I get you anything?" came a voice beside him.

He looked up, only to be blinded by the most colourful girl he'd ever seen. Her hair was bright pink with purple highlights, her shirt a crazy shade of neon yellow, and on her feet were sparkly green Converse shoes. "A blindfold?" Jess replied sarcastically, losing his flow to the intrusive colours.

"Ah, you're new," the girl continued with a knowing smile. "I'm the traffic light option the city vetoed."

"Noted."

"So, do you want anything with that blindfold?"

"Just coffee. Black."

"Just a fair warning, I tend to be a bit overzealous with the coffee, so don't die on me, okay," the girl said, before disappearing behind the counter.

Jess shook his head. Of all the places to pick, of course he walked into the coffee place with the nutty waitress. He returned to his legal pad, trying to recollect his thoughts. It didn't take him long to get writing again, and he barely noticed when a steaming cup of coffee landed in front of him. He took a sip out of it, feeling a jolt go through him. The girl hadn't been kidding.

Experiments. I was drawn to them, so maybe that's why I ended up in that Town. It was an experiment, from the town limits to the centre square. A crazy collective, a kind of sect that had forgotten what it was. I tried to get out, but got stuck in blue. A haven, a sanctuary, my faction within the faction. Subsect. Among crazy edicts, new wave produce and plain insanity I found my ticket out of hopelessness and into a world of bricklike books, 80's music, fries for dinner and candy for medicine. It was like a dream, and for that I had to crush my illusions, and hers along with them. I sulked to Metallica all the way to the sun.

"Are you writing?"

Jess' head snapped up, only to find he wasn't alone at the table anymore. The two guys who had been sitting in the corner when he came in, were now sitting opposite him, eyeing him with curiosity.

"I'm holding a pen, aren't I?" Jess replied testily.

"Yeah, and the pen's been moving for the past half hour. Are you chasing down the Great American Novel?" asked one of them, a pale-looking guy with brown hair.

"No, but I'll be chasing you down the street unless you piss off. Immediately."

"Guy's got spunk, I like it!" the other guy, an afro-American with wild hair, said. "But seriously dude, what are you writing?"

"Something that looks more and more like your death sentence."

Jess was irritated. Where had these two nut jobs come from, and why did they have to destroy his perfect picture of Philadelphia. Thanks to them he'd have to leave. He wondered if Liz was still living in New York.

"I told you not to!"

Jess sighed heavily inside. Perfect. Colour-crazy waitress was back, her voice a high pitched shriek now.

"But we…" began the pale one.

"No," the girl told them sharply. "It's one thing for you to mess with me, I can take that. In fact I'm whoppin' both of your asses, but when you start soliciting customers you're out."

"You can't be serious!"

"You wanna wait and watch?"

Wild Hair-dude tugged at Paleface's shirt, and they both left the place quickly.

"Thanks," Jess said, and nodded to the girl.

"No worries. Those two can be a pain if you don't know how to handle them."

"And you obviously do."

"Please! I'm their sole provider of coffee, without me they'd be whining on the floor of their rundown apartment like little babies."

Jess smirked, and looked at his watch.

"I should go. Need to find a place to stay, and somewhere to work, preferably in that order. Thanks for the coffee," he said, putting away the pad and the pen, pulling out his wallet to pay.

"Coffee's on the house," the girl answered, with a grin.

He gave her a grateful smile, nodded again, and left.

He walked back towards the park bench, where he knew he'd seen a small newsstand. He could get a paper and start searching for an apartment and a job. He was almost at the bench, he could see the small news stand around the bend, when he heard it:

"Hey! Dude! Oh, for the love of Pete… Leather Jacket, front and centre!"

Jess didn't need to turn around. He knew it was one of the guys from the coffee shop.

"Was there an asylum prison break I don't know about?" Jess said aggressively as he turned around.

Behind him, Paleface stopped, huffing, while Wild Hair stepped up.

"Okay, so we didn't make the smoothest move in the coffee shop…"

"You're not hitting on me, are you? 'Cause I don't do that," Jess protested.

"No! Come on, if there were straight awards, we'd be honorary recipients! Anyway, we saw you writing, and thought we'd try and scope your work."

"Why?"

"We have this little project." Paleface piped up.

"A project?" Jess asked.

"Yeah, we just started up a publishing house. Nothing big and fancy, local talents, pretty decent coffee once we get our girl back at the coffee store to agree to that."

"No."

"Why not?"

"I'm not writing a novel, or a short story, or anything like that."

"We do poetry, too."

"No poetry, nothing." Jess kept on.

"Well, we're not picky with genres. Anything that's understandable goes."

Jess was silent for a second.

"It's not ready. I doubt it will ever be."

"I can be very persuasive." Paleface said cockily.

"Don't push your luck, ass."

"Cool down, I almost got this…" Wild Hair whispered to the pale one.

Jess shook his head, he had to get rid of these two.

"Sorry guys, I don't think you'll publish anything by me soon. Run along and stalk someone else," he told them.

"Come on, man. Just take our card, and drop by sometime. Bring your work, whatever you've got on paper that is, and let us have a look at it." Wild Hair said, and handed him a card.

Jess hesitated before accepting the card.

"Fine," he finally relented. "I'll come by if I have time, but I'm not making any promises."

"Great, you won't be sorry!" Paleface told him.

The guys turned around, jogging off. Jess saw them disappear out onto the street, before resuming his walk to the newsstand. He looked at the card he'd been given. It looked phony, it was all crinkled up like it had been in that guys pocket for days, and the writing on it looked as though it had been handwritten with a simple black marker. It read:

LOCUST PUBLISHING

5 Locust Street

Philadelphia

Matt Callahan & Chris Nuñez

Jake Parker & Reggie James

The writing was barely legible, and Jess had no idea what was preventing him from throwing the card in the nearest rubbish bin, but something was. Jess sighed as he placed the card in his pocket. He then continued on to the newsstand, he really needed to find a place to stay and preferably before nightfall.