I'm learning what it's like to have your hometown bombed. Two blocks from where my sister and I went to elementary school. Right through where my mom walks to work every morning. I guess every place is somebody's hometown, and Boston is mine.
I flew from Newark to Seattle last night and the whole time, all six hours as the plane flew West I kept thinking "What are you doing? Turn around. Take a train, or a bus, or walk, or more likely run, go home to Boston, to mom and dad and Anna and Brooks and your cousins. Go home. Now." But of course I just sat there, and eventually I fell asleep.