Today, Danijela had just arrived from New York City and we went to have something to eat at a Thai place, next to our place, in Fenway. The day was nice and warm, with Spring finally showing herself here in Boston. During lunch we heard two explosions. I thought it was strange and maybe they were from some nearby construction. But today it’s a holiday, so it probably couldn’t be from one. Today was marathon day — the Boston marathon — and earlier there had been a Sox game. There were plenty of people on the streets, enjoying the holiday and the weather. I had passed over the runners that were going through the Commonwealth Ave. tunnel a few hours later. Danijela, who is Croatian, said the booms sounded like this cannon in Zagreb that goes off every noon. I only realized what was happening a few minutes later when the 8 o’clock news were showing in Portugal and some friends were calling to know if we were ok. Only then I knew there had been a bombing at the finish line, two blocks away from our previous apartment, in front of the Portuguese consulate, in front of the window of a shop where I bought a pair of glasses. The remainder of the day was depressive. It is not that the magnitude of the the attack was enormous, but like a shooting at a school, it was perpetrated against a community of people that had peacefully gathered. A day when people stop, go outside, enjoy life. And now we all feel a little less safe, in a world that definitely did not need this.