a city reader

The final paragraph of Richard Ford’s great American novel. Frank Bascombe is back home on the Fourth of July, his odyssey completed:

And I am in the crowd just as the drums are passing—always the last in line—their boom-boom-booming in my ears and all around. I see the sun above the street, breathe in the day’s rich, warm smell. Someone calls out, ‘Clear a path, make room, make room, please!’ The trumpets go again. My heartbeat quickens. I feel the push, pull, the weave and sway of others.