The power went out in my building just after six o'clock. We have a loud air conditioner so the sudden stillness was eerie. Almost immediately I heard the wailing. The world outside was filling up with sirens. Hundreds of them were sounding from every direction and distance. One blared past my window. Then another. Over the next hour the din only grew. I waited for the power, wanting news and half-expecting an air raid. I tapped my foot for awhile and then it came back on and I saw the headline and left on foot for the river.

The first thing I saw as I arrived on the scene was a softball game. The light blues were playing the dark blues at slowpitch alongside an entire army of frantic emergency workers. The aftermath of the 35W bridge collapse had been unfolding for about the last four innings just one block over, off behind the treeline that serves as the outfield fence. I clicked the shutter in sync with the smack of the bat. The dark blues cheered gleefully. Base hit.

Then I continued down the street past fire trucks, ambulances and cop cars of every stripe, to see what had happened to my city. Past backhoes and boats arriving by trailer and dive teams by the truckload. I wished them "good luck" and made my way to the legal limit because, like any kid, I wanted to see. I stopped at the yellow tape, and there I saw the worst thing I have seen since the war. Oh my god the bridge fell down with everybody on it. I took a picture of the scene because I had been meaning to, but my heart wasn't in it. Suddenly photography felt too much like softball.

I asked a cop if they needed volunteers, for anything; handing out water even. He said no "but thanks, I know how you feel. Poor people. One day you're sitting bored in the daily traffic jam and the skyhigh bridge you forgot you were on just falls out from under you. I wouldn't want to die like that. Such a nightmare." he trailed off. On the ballfield, someone bunted. The cop turned to watch the baserunner, his troubled expression subsiding to a crestfallen sadness.