At Givens Park L races past the playground swarming with kids to collect beer caps at the edge, digging them out of the ground with sticks and begging me to help with my mom fingernails.
We’d first tried to go to Springdale Park but rough sleepers have claimed it, not at the tables or in the line of trees, but on the equipment itself, blankets and bags at the top of the slides, a little kid fantasy to Live! At! The! Park! Sleep! Under! Stars! turned adult nightmare. I reversed out of the lot and we came to Givens instead.
He darts from cap to cap and there are hundreds, thousands, he likes the blue ones best, crouching among the pecans, butts and Swisher Sweets debris.
Everything is so gross and awful and cute and bluntly pure my heart nopes out of my throat and later we wash our hands doubleplus good.
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