They spent vacations fishing for Atlantic salmon in Canada. One year they returned to Route 27. Near The Plaza there was a White elephant sale. I remember smelling gasoline. Sensing nervous souls; lost and unprepared. Trans-Am was going so fast it had wedged itself underneath this behemoth oil tanker like a kinetic energy physics experiment. I remember water on the sparkling asphalt and foam from the firetrucks. That familiar, unsettling car accident and crime scene energy. Intangible and tentative like lime green fire engines, bric-à-brac, browsing and beach fence. It was cold and dreary. An afternoon by the sand dunes on Elmwood Avenue. A stray dog followed us down Emerson early one morning. Chased us for a clear blue mile. We were a bit scared but I think he just wanted to talk. Memories woven deep into the lattice of my mind. Tied around my finger as a reminder. The veins of my heart.