There’s a trolley graveyard about two blocks from here. I could go see the engine any time. The trolley graveyard is well, like, I guess, beautiful, you know? Really. They’re just there, like old creatures everyone’s forgotten, some of them rusted out, and some of them on their sides, and one, the old thirtytwo, is like standing straight up as though sayin’, like, I’m going to stand here and be myself, no matter what. I talk to them, Oh, I shouldn’t have said that. Don’t tell my mother, please? It’s, you know, like people who go to castles and look for, for, well, like, knights in shining armor, you know? That past was beautiful and somehow, like, pure. The same is true of the trolley