Four blocks. My apartment off Rue Oberkampf is four blocks away from Le Bataclan, a popular music venue where, about two weeks ago, 89 people were killed. It seems these days as if everyone in the city has some kind of connection to what happened on the 13th – in the days after we all were exchanging stories, such as “my apartment is in that arrondissement,” “I heard sirens wailing for most of the night” or “a classmate of mine was in the Bataclan”. It’s true. That classmate

Shreveport. Nashville. London. Home. All of these places I’ve referred to as home on more than one occasion. Even Denver and the stretch of coast along northwest Florida have been dubbed by me as home before. So what exactly is home? Is it the place where you were born? Grew up? Went to college? Found your first job? Is it the place where your family lives? Where you’ve spent the majority of your years? Is it the place where you’re currently in now? Is home even a place at al