Back to the water, to the water, to the indifferent edge of things. The skateboarders sitting on the bridge smoking pot, not skateboarding; the overflowing trash cans with the Chick-Fil-A bags; the array of beagles, four of ‘em, pulling their compliant master behind them: everything takes on a political edge. Black men in the white crowd differently visible; the skateboarders take long solemn drags in time to softly blaring trip hop; I want to hug them, to give them something of value, simply to share the space. It’s not so hard. Close your eyes and it’s summer. “This Is America.”