Biking back from the beach, alone. The sycamores lining the street whisper in the breeze. The heat thickens on your skin but you aren’t hot. A man is setting up a hot dog cart in someone’s back yard. The liquor store’s white van in the driveway is full of ice and beer. It’s the 5th of July. A sprinkler clicks, but the water will evaporate in minutes, except for where it is filling a crease in the uneven sidewalk. The oak tree buckled the sidewalk here decades ago, and now the dark pool deepens in the shade. Everything is slow. You are time traveling.