Weirdly, not much got destroyed in the blast. We mourned the dozen or so deaths (a family reunion in that field, the epicenter). Some things felt a little different. All 9s became 6s, which CPAs and IRS agents hated. Fruit in general tasted a touch too sweet. There was that mid-summer hail, which isn’t completely unheard of. Your story about where you’d been—work, but later getting a takeout burrito, but later taking a midday walk with a colleague—tickled in the back of my brain, but a lot does these days. After all, a nuclear bomb had been dropped on us.