After the blasts went off, we laughed.
First, though, we cried. Walking along Mile 21 in the minutes of confusion after the bombs exploded at the finish line of the Boston Marathon on Monday, I saw tears of frustration and anger and terror. We cried because we didn’t know what was going on, we were scared that whatever had happened five miles east of us was going to happen again, here. We cried because we didn’t know where our friends, who were running the marathon, were. Cell service was suspended and as we tried to reach the runners we were met with horrifying silence. We cried because a day that is usually so beautiful and so characterized by community and solidarity had been wrecked, and we were tired of living in a world where this sort of experience has become the norm.
We were drunk and happy, until suddenly we…
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