On Broad Street

We caught the six-o-five to Philly. For the entire ride, the conductor groused about the way the train had three extra cars for him to tend by himself and that next weekend, thanks to Race for the Cure, it would be the same story.

Mainly, he was ignored: Despite the hour, everyone was in a festive mood.

We were headed to the Broad Street Run, a ten mile race with an expected forty thousand runners and countless spectators.

I hate the city.

I hate crowds.

I hate noise.

I hate traffic and sirens and white pavement that seems to cover everything.

Most of all I hate having to worry about my children getting hurt.


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