In Richmond, Va., weird stuff happens and you just accept it as the norm and move on.
For example, my roommates and I were people watching after stuffing our faces with sweetFrog. College kids were playing volleyball, and a family was finishing their frozen concoctions. The sun was setting, and a man walked past us on the street, strumming a guitar and singing softly to himself. This guy wasn’t homeless or performing, he just wanted to play the guitar outside today. A few minutes later, some biker dudes rode by. The funny thing was, these guys had the tattoos, the hair and the high handlebars on their bikes, but their bikes had spokes and pedals. No engine.
There were all these characters around me, and they all made sense because together, they are Richmond.
I turned to one roommate and said, “I love Richmond,” but not in a casual, shallow sort of way.
My heart literally aches for Richmond.