From this bench, I feel the summer air around me, heavy and buzzing.
What do you feel?

I see a family, who traveled more than one thousand miles just to see this giant palace that is oddly called
a house, that from some angles could almost be mistaken for a house. At least until you notice the guards
with their guns - a living, breathing, thinking barricade.

How far did you travel to sit here?

I hear the sounds of excited chatter, honking horns, distant chants, bumping music.
Do you remember the first time you heard that blaring song?

I taste my iced tea, cold in my travel mug. The thing is unwieldy and long, too long to fit in my bag.
What are you drinking as we sit here together? Strangers, but co-conspirators, surveying the scene.

We watch as people pose for pictures in small groups, a squirrel steals three French fries in a dash,
a cyclist slams on the brakes to avoid a collision. A child runs across the avenue, laughing without
restraint, confident that they were born perfect, having no reason to question it.