On my final day living in Harvard Square, I had to visit my bank. It was a short walk that I have done countless times.  But this time, I wanted to remember everything.

In front of my apartment building is a brick sidewalk.  Right outside the door, there are three bricks missing.  A neighbor reported that hazard to the city long ago, but they are still missing. 

And then there is the shop I pass that sells some unknown-to-me kind of baked goods that has had a big sign in the window for as long as I can remember. On it, in large letters, their address is spelled Chuch Street when they actually are on Church Street. 

I passed the Harvard Coop, with the usual gaggle of tourists who are seeking Harvard paraphernalia, and then crossed the busy inter section where the subway spills out hordes of people, and the same "homeless" lady sits by the entrance (smoking her usual cigarette). 

On the way back, I stepped on the same place in the sidewalk where a “temporary”  (and ill-fitting) wooden cover hides some kind of subway vent, and it made the same hollow clanging noise it always does.

Harvard Square will go on without me.  But I miss it already.