May 6, 2024:
Babies chasing sparrows. The birds dive, soar, scatter; the babies squeal. "Mira! Mira!" shouts Mom, to the babies not the birds.
"My dad's in Tulare. My mom's in — my mom's in fukkin Narnia, man." E-bike boys, passing in a heartbeat.
A tent — a blue tent — blue and white, like a Catholic arctic ice tent — set in the middle of the soccer field. Even the ubiquitous Sheriff's helicopter slows to take a look.