The cool wind whips our faces, making us feel as if we have no skin at all. Just raw, exposed bone and tissue - as if we were one of the people caught in the many fires we’ve learned about here. Our bodies made of wood, we’d crumble and then be rebuilt, to crumble and rebuild again. Our feet step on sand, dirt, and stone where boys, now long dead, once played and swam. Our eyes see trees and parks and storefronts, but how many other eyes have looked out at this city and seen different things in the same exact places? Different experiences in the same air space. We are travelers, here for only a moment, where some people spent their whole lives. Like coins in a contained pond, we add our memories to them.