When I first moved to Loring Park, I thought I was hearing things because I’d hear the unmistakable clip clop of a shod horse on the street outside. A sound only a farmkid would notice from inside his urban dwelling. Indeed, I would look out the window several times that first month and shake my head to find nothing and surmise that I was one step closer to psychotic. Or at least the psychiatrist’s office.
Finally one night, I found the horse and buggy winding through the Loring neighborhood, much like I did tonight, right outside my doorstep.