I couldn’t help but think how we’re only separated by time. Vincenza, who I don’t know, am not related to, walked down that same street 100 years ago on the way to work. My brother-in-law, who lives a couple blocks from here, is 16. He’s skateboarded by that spot many times, I’m sure.

But also, that 100 years can make the fire seem artificially far away. The clothes I’m wearing now were made by some “Vincenza” somewhere. Hopefully in better conditions. Maybe not.

Then again, maybe it’s not fair of me to abstract Vincenza’s death. She was a real person. People loved her. People mourned her passing 100 years ago. I’m thankful for the pause to connect with her.

– Edward Mullen