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.