I finally found time Wednesday to walk downtown. On Main Street that early afternoon, I found myself flanked with a question from a gray-haired woman sitting on an old bus bench that had seen better days.

She asked, “Do you know what time it is?”

I replied from across the street, “Five after 12.”

In January, I interned as a reporter during the Indiana General Assembly. I was stationed about six blocks from Indiana’s Statehouse, where I walked back and forth numerous times through the smoky streets of Indy.

I was never asked the time. In place of that where questions asked with the shaking of coins echoing in a cup: “Spare any change?” I was also asked a loan of five dollars for a sandwich. Never the time.

I’m not sure why this interests me. A simple question of the time? It just made me realize where I was. I wasn’t in the crowded streets of Indy.

I’m in Washington.

When I first arrived at the Times-Herald to start my internship, I was always the subject of another question, frequently asked by sports editor Todd Lancaster, “What does a 20-year-old do in Washington?”

I’m too young to take presence in the local sports bar, and I’m too old to jump on trampolines.

The question I asked myself was: What does a journalist do in Washington?

Then the flood hit.

As a journalist, you feel honored to cover events like these, though they are tragic.

I came in earlier Monday than my usual 3 p.m. knowing full well that Indiana had been hit with destructive floods over the weekend.

Still new to the area, I had no clue where towns like Elnora or Plainville were at, and no idea of how deep the water was.

Following staff writer Sally Petty to the front lines of the flood, I found myself saying, as a journalist, “I’m glad to be in Washington.”