Eighty-Five was a good year for sprinklers. The kind that go back and forth and form tunnels for dashing through, the kind that spray wildly in every direction, and the kind at the park that can be a hit or miss depending on how fast you run. Summer, where are you?
Hellz yea. I never miss the opportunity to hit a sprinkler when on my bike, consequences be damned!
I admire your gusto. Past experience makes me wary of certain sprinklers.
I don’t remember the sprinklers, but I remember that swingset at the brown house on 3rd Street.