Ahmad’s Body Shop is a place that operates in my mind.

In the middle of my concrete playground; Chevy Impalas and Mercury Grand Marquis shuffle around. Ole heads arguing about Sunday’s Eagles game drowns out the Sound of Philadelphia on the radio. And the smell of menthol cigarette butts sitting in Bud Heavy cans covers the air.

ABS serves to keep the spirit of my childhood and my beloved cousin, Ahmad, alive. Like so many young men in the city, his life was cut short before he truly had the chance to live. He was intelligent, he was gracious, and he was wise beyond his years.

His face continues to shine in my memory. Though I can’t hug him, hear his voice, or sit with him on our Mum Mum’s steps anymore I can still feel him. I can still feel that time. Now with ABS, you can feel it too.

This is a tribute to the memories. To Ahmad. To the city. And the indelible mark they’ve left on my life.