Foreign thoughts in through the looking glass.

A bike ride through the empty Mall grounds, riding alongside my husband as my son dances on his handlebars to the eerie jangle of the lone ice cream truck. The next day the first - late, it seems - of the summer where the heat covers us like a blanket, slows our movements with its oppressiveness. At work it’s like no event I’ve seen before - roving protests and scuffles and small fires and forays onto the highway all a far cry from leading tired crowds toward waiting trains.

I feel no pride. Just weariness and a budding thought that we should start over someplace else.