I could tell from the way my dad said my name that he had unpleasant news to share. “If this goes much longer,” he said, “we’ll miss the BART.”
I checked the time and realized that it was almost half past eleven. The Oakland A’s and the Detroit Tigers were entering the 12th inning on a cool spring night in the East Bay and the last BART train would be leaving the Oakland Coliseum at midnight.
I was surprised at how late it had gotten. We had been at the park for almost five hours, but time had seemingly ceased to exist for me there.