May 5, 2024:
Soccer dude, the goalkeeper, watches the ball soar airborne over his net, across the path beneath my feet, over the fence and down into or onto the noble current of the mighty San Diego River, here more the San Diego Oblong Puddle, but no matter it's definitively gone.
Middle aged couple struggle to reel in their very large retrievers, who despite their leashes are far more interested in meeting me than continuing forward with mom and dad. The dogs say hi, the humans do not.
Rocky without Bullwinkle dashes across the trail, nearly across the tops of my Hokas. It's a squirrel right of adolescent passage: how close can we rocket past these tall-ass bipeds without them stepping on our tails?