I went for a walk with my toddler during the middle of the game today. It was spooky–no cars, no humans, anywhere, except for this other duo at the park who were twenty-somethings having a fight in that way of being in love with each other but being incompatible and so bone weary of their loops. They were lovely and vibrant, but I was glad to be on the other side of it all with my exuberant and laughing kid jumping in every puddle and giving me a hundred side glances of love.

There was a moment, when we were almost home again, when all of a sudden I heard screaming from every nearby houses. Even Monster, this asshole dog who lives down the street, started howling. Ten seconds later there was fireworks. My neighborhood is all about the illegal fireworks.

The Seahawks had just scored a touchdown seconds before half-time, and it was this moment where everyone was doing this same thing, in their separate spaces, but feeling the same joy and pride, and even me, not watching the game and being out of step with my city, even I felt something good.