48 - National Parade

Shavash Day came on a cold October morning, the year that I lived there. Stumbling to the window, I saw people already lining the grey streets, dressed in drab traditional attire, or the Red and Grey of the Caraghian flag. Something that struck me, even from the window, was that nobody looked happy. They all just stood, waiting without anticipation, listening to the music without clapping their hands.