Sundays are different.
Even though I walk every day of the week, there's always a different vibe to my Sunday stroll.
For one thing, walking through the VCU part of it is usually like walking through a ghost town.
Not so today because hell block was buzzing with move-in activity.
As a new crop of students eagerly take over the apartments that have played host to countless games of beer pong and anonymous hook-ups, it's funny to see the parents looking so worried about this next big step.
Let 'em go, I say. If you've done a good job as a parent, they'll be fine.
Ahh, I see. No wonder you're looking so concerned. A little late now.
But don't get me started.
Walking down Belvidere, a man approaching me steps off the sidewalk on to the grass to let me pass.
"Pretty girls scare me," he says with a smile and a sweep of his arm. "So, please go on."
Only on Sunday.
Heading home, I walk by a porch where two women are talking to a young girl, maybe 9 or 10 years old.
"Walk outside every day and ask the universe for answers," one of the women tells the child as I pass.
If that isn't the most appropriate Sunday advice I could hope for, I don't know what is.
My walks are an opportunity to ask my questions. Every single day.
Sunday, August 12, 2012
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