As I catch the downhill from 29th Street or so and start to fly past the quietest green and stone of the cemetery, I can see the Verrazano Bridge, way off in the distance, mounting up from Brooklyn and sailing over the river to Staten Island, pale blue steel against a pale blue sky. A truck at a stop light waits for me to pass, even after the light turns green, and I give a wave over my shoulder in thanks, but I never slow down.
One year ago: Making Your Person Laugh
Two years ago: I'm Kinda The Worst
Three years ago: Fanboying
Five years ago: By the Time It's Here, It's Gone
Ten years ago: Sinus Redux