Clocks tick more loudly here, and more slowly. Time moves so differently that the events that make up your day have become meaningless; more boring than ordinary.

It’s quiet, insular, and safe here. The neighborhood is protected by walls made with decorative bricks. At the entrance there is a sign that reads Crestview in fancy black letters.

The sound of sprinklers reminds you of childhood: rhythmic tap of metal against water, smooth arc to return, repeat. You like being reminded of childhood.

You forget if those walls are to keep bad guys out or bad guys in.

You’re floating in the pool, getting browner and blonder. The smell of chlorine is comforting.

You look up and see black tangled branches in relief against blue sky. You look up and feel grateful.

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