1954 Following the doctor’s orders, we moved farther from Los Angeles—escaped the dingy smoke over the harbor, the yellow callouses of smog, the black
four o’clock coffee: first baking from the Sellwood Safeway risen early with no real purpose, no plane to catch, a habit shaped equally of
nothing beat shoving a girl. My father said they should paint flames on my cleats when I chased down a breakaway, took an angle