Two Years Later
Not much has changed. Always on this day there's a steady flow of gawkers making their pilgramage to the pit. We call them "Pitters". I have to keep music playing in order to drown out the mournful wail of bagpipes, the roll call of the dead, and the gostly singing of the choir...all of which send shivers down my spine.
Media vans park along my street like a caravan of circus wagons.