Fences are going up next door.
Horizontal slats with no gaps.
No places for kids to whisper or stick fingers through.
The loquat tree that served both snacks and projectiles is gone as are the kids that picked them. Two pushed out and up to Bakersfield by the new owners. Another two are teenagers. My two don’t go over there without the others.
Each unit will have its own fence. Six fences where we once smashed pinatas and Eli had their first goldfish. Three of the fences blocking where we used to gather to watch the fireworks.
I wonder about the price for rent.
I already know the cost.
What a poignant note and so neatly written. The last five words deliver some blow…