Not one to pass up cilantro, you join the queue for the taco truck. A man is cutting fresh limes. A cute kid goes down the line offering samples of aguas frescas. No one holds things up by taking selfies with the truck logo. It's perfect.

You order and get your food slap-fast. Chilled Jamaica in hand, you look for a place to sit.

You can squeeze in with the picnic table tech types, parklet grass hippies, or umbrella-standing-table gaming enthusiasts. Or sit by yourself, under a friendly tree.

You situate yourself on an accommodating root of a sprawling tree. Craggy-old, it's seen some stuff.

You take a healthy bite of burrito, and a wide, red-gold leaf falls in your lap. Another on your head. Then all over you.

Odd. It's springtime.

A squirrel scampers down the trunk, waves at you, and skips down the clean-but-not-too-clean sidewalk. Upright, on two feet.

The tree branches shake again, tossed by a nonexistent wind. The rustling sounds like ancient words. Leaves fall only on you.

Ignoring the odd leaves and bipedal squirrel, you focus on lunch. You paid extra for guacamole, after all. As you hit the motherlode of avocado, your vision blurs. That's happened before, but not without tequila.

You wake up after dark, sucking on the empty foil. The moon is full. The other moon is a thin crescent.

A clown sits in the grass, twisting countless balloon animals. The shriek of rubber rips the air. Past him, a mime descends an endless staircase beneath the only lit streetlamp.

You spot a giraffe on top of the balloon animal pile. Arranging your face in a friendly smile, you stroll over.

The clown opens his mouth. The sound of a hundred freight trains rushes out.

Out of the darkness, an organ grinder approaches. His monkey runs up and hands you a slip of paper. "Follow me." You do, the bright, jangling sounds of the Looney Tunes theme echoing off the buildings.

You stop in front of a fortune teller's tent. She greets you at the entrance. "Fortune telling or seance?"