My favorite memory from 2011 is all the running on the boulevard.
The idea that men around here will run to a library never fails to amaze me. They arrive, wheezing our names while holding up a hand, signaling us to wait a moment while they catch their breath in order to ask some burning question. The sound of books being dumped into the drop box outside the library initiates a vague sense of anxiety in my chest, as those who did not run fast enough are turned away. The officer’s voice…