There was a light rain outside as Pete stepped out of the parking garage. A passing breeze filled his nostrils with the smell of diesel bus fumes mixed with fast food and fresh bread, causing him to feel both hungry and nauseous at the same time.

He put on his headphones and meandered around the puddles in the street, stopping briefly below the flag pole to take a look around. Drops of water fell from the red white and blue cloth like lost tears. He caught one in his left hand and touched it to his tongue before beginning his run through the streets of his old neighborhood.

It had only been a year since Steve had been killed in Iraq. He picked up his pace as random thoughts of his brother invoked powerful emotions – fishing trips, holidays, old friends, tearful goodbyes…

For the next three hours, Pete ran through the wet city streets, continuing through the pain of blisters and exhaustion. And then he returned to the flag pole where he collapsed in a nearby puddle of water, sobbing on the wet pavement.