Cedar Park

My last meeting downtown ended around 4, so instead of hopping on the
subway to go back to work for about an hour, only to walk twenty
minutes to get my kids from day care, I decided to take the trolley
straight to near day care, and find a place to camp out for an hour or
so. I settled on a bench at Cedar Park, just a block off the trolley
line and three blocks from day care.

I probably stuck out like a sore thumb: all around me were older
folks, many drunk, and all cussing up a storm as they regaled each
other with stories and busted each others' chops. Meanwhile, I'm in a
shirt and tie, dutifully editing page after page of reports and other
work documents. But nobody hassled me, and a few even nodded my way,
as if to say, "You're alright."

One efficient hour later, I had gotten through all my papers, just in
time to pick up my kids. And I was glad I picked Cedar Park, because
it's something you have to do every once in awhile when you live and
work in the city, just to be out and about, amidst other people,
taking in life at the street level.

Maybe I would've been more productive sipping on a latte in an
air-conditioned Starbucks or some other climate-controlled,
riff-raff-free environment. But I would've missed out a slice of
urban fabric, one of several thousand in the journey of an urban
Christian seeking to know and love his adopted city.

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