Asphalt covered half the street; the rest wasovergrown with sunberries we ate. At the sound of a horn,we ran to the car; in its bluish smoke, we sawour future like a 3-D film. When my friendJC tied his feet to the back bumper of a jeepto sneak a ride, its engine started;market people screamed as his bleeding headwas dragged for a hundred yards.Our most daring venture was to the mountain caveto dig out bullets for spinning tops’ axles.But we had to cross locals’ territory—my foreheadstill bears the scar of a thrown stone.These road brawls ended when someonein the cave shouted: Corpses!—soldiers in a mass grave.Yet, those were carefree days. Dropping by any houseat mealtime, I ate with them if they laid me a place—if not, I played next to their dinner table.House doors were left unlocked:what thief would steal an empty bag of rice?In summer, we slept in the public pool’s storage shack,no parents looking for us.It was the children’s utopia: what we didn’t have,we didn’t need. Even now, walking my suburban streetlate at night, I snoop around for remnants of those days:that sour tailpipe smoke must be a shimmerin the air somewhere on Earth.