We head out. Our group could always use more and better weaponry, and maybe we can find something nourishing, or at least edible. Every dozen or so feet, we stop and listen. The noise we hear is neither near nor far, but it’s too close for my liking. As long as there isn’t anything directly in front of us, we keep going. We reach the end of the sidewalk at an intersection, and peer down the street, left and right. Fire and smoke, broken glass, bullet holes. There is nothing left of what was once a quiet and polite town. It’s all gone now.

I stop and reflect. “I sat right over there and watch a parade, not one year ago.” I point across the street, to a curb in front of a hardware store. Flashes of color and sound from the past hit me, and then I’m back again. It never seemed more real than it did right now. Sure, I’d seen worse, but it was always in some other city, some other country. Now that it’s somewhere that I care about, it almost hurts.

Enough of that, keep moving.