But like even the shittiest of parks, it does have trees, and trees have proven themselves my friends so far.
I choose a sprawling live oak with plenty of strong, spreading, nearly horizontal branches hidden in the darkness of its foliage, and I climb.
The itching in my right leg is so bad that as soon as I find myself a comfortable enough perch, I roll up my jeans to scratch.
My calf is crisscrossed with more of those thready root systems just under the surface, tangled together so I can’t tell how many there are now. The white lumps and red inflammation stand out clearly, even under the yellow of the streetlights.
Two of the growths break the surface of my skin where I scratch, making me scratch even harder. I don’t care how badly it stings. Stinging won’t drive me crazy as fast as t
