Today I rode my bicycle to the metro, locked it up, and took the train to the Hill for church with Chelsie.
Nothing really seemed too out of the ordinary with the day aside from increased policemen and police cars. I don't know why, but I couldn't help but walk slowly. I usually walk quickly and with a purpose, but today I just couldn't.
I got a latte from Pound (it was perfect) and waited for Chelsie. I walked down to Barrack's Row. I went to my office to change shoes for church (I've taken to leaving all my heels at the office and wearing flats on the train) and fix my hair from the bicycle ride. I felt everything. It was palpable. We were all walking around—people with babies and Hill guys running with their dogs, and maybe I was just imagining it, but I felt it in the air and I think everyone else could too. My barista, the Steelers fans waiting outside Pourhouse before it even opened, the bums. We were all in a fog. We weren't quite there.
We all have unique remembrances, but today means something to everyone.
PS: Someone in Dover really, really likes to see if I've updated. I'm flattered.
