August shoot-'em-up.

A summer spent on plastic swings in public parks, with strange children who in the space of an afternoon became friends. Laughing and screaming, higher and higher, the blur of the trees and the person who pushes us, knocking over paper-and-wax cups of cola slushies on our way down. Finally, reaching a peak and sliding out of the rubber seat to fly and land on all fours in the grass.

Funny how I never spoke to them again, after that summer was over.

[They see me now. I'm with others, laughing as we paint a wall with our fictional tags. They shake their heads and walk quickly past.]