You find out what your kid is made of when you’re running full sprint to catch the 50.  You learn things about each other when you say “go” and don’t think –>  just run, crossing streets, breaking laws, giving it a shot.

It’s not a Bond or Death situation, but it feels like it knowing the next 50 doesn’t run for two hours.  We cut across the library lawn in a desperate effort to intersect before Dupont St., but we see its boxy frame turn and roll out of sight.    Slowing to a jog we accept the truth, we missed the bus.

And when your child, still huffing for air, looks up at you for what to do next you either laugh or cry.

Fortunately, we have resources and legs. All that’s really lost is the plan which probably needed adjustment anyway.  It’ll be OK, that’s what I convey.  But a part of both of us knows we’re missing a good story or character that just got on at NW Ave.