June 15, 2024:

Johnny Athlete, towel over dreds, surprisingly not exiting at San Diego State, as I'd incorrectly predicted. Stereotypical thinking? Could be. Dude vibes like a ball player after a game.

Weekday train, late morning. Quiet, with a complete lack of the crazy I normally attract. Too much workday vibe for the sketchy? Or more stereotypical thinking?

Highway 8 on the left. How much driving did we do, me and Mom, up and down that road, day and day again, where now it's the train that's new. That, and my apparently gestating affinity for stereotypical thinking.

June 14, 2024:

La Mesa eucalyptus. Child on Yale, elder on trolley. Same trees, then and now, where then they were strong and verdant, now they're stooped and shaggy and dry. Mirrors of myself, effectively.

They were special to me. They smelled happy, and in the wind they sounded like bacon frying. I loved them, and the many pines around Helix High, for their Christmas smell and the cones they dropped which we children used as toy hand grenades.

"For your safety, please hold on..." Says the recorded trolley voice. Please hold on. Exactly. For your safety.

June 13, 2024:

Backpack and underbite, chewing his teeth. The underbite makes him look surly; the backpack like a terrorist with an IED. He looks at me not once, staring straight ahead.

Elderly with the volume up full: some video game on Android. Racking up points while coasting into Arnele Avenue.

Johnny Tenspeed apologizes as I move my giant's leg for him to pass. "No worries, mate": faux Ozzie for friendliness.