Tee-hee! I said 69 . . .
*ahem*
Anyway.
Huh. 69.
All right. Give me a second here.
When I was a kid, maybe four or five, somewhere around there, my grandfather used to walk me to the park in Berkeley, which was just on the other side of the viaduct. It was my favorite park because it was ideal for playing Star Wars. There was a bridge that was perfect for pretending you were in a lightsaber battle in Empire, and the ground at the end of the slide kinda looked like a Sarlacc pit. But that's besides the point.
Along the way we passed under the viaduct, and I always liked going all the way to the back where it was dark and grimy and nasty. It was always flooded, so it seemed like there was a small creek, and it was always filled with garbage, just like everything in the 'Eighties was filled with garbage.
Gramps called the place Icky Sticky Poo Land, and I fucking loved that place. No one was ever there except for us. It was a filthy place, and I've always loved filthy places. I wanted to jump into the water and revel in filth, and while Gramps indulged me at times, he never let me go that far. I still kinda want to go swimming in that muck.
It's gone now. Fuckers cleaned the place up. Now Berkeley uses it to store their public works trucks, and construction vehicles are sometimes parked there. They even have lights over there now. Dammit, why does everything have to be so clean? I miss that place.
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