at least once a year, every year, we’ve ambled down to “our hill”—the path going down under the west side highway towards the little red lighthouse and the great gray bridge. it’s the best hill around, maybe in the entire city, and barely anyone knows about it. it’s ours to enjoy, to bring smiles, to bring fun, and to bring a rush of wind and cold into our face on the way down…a rush so great it makes us forget the argument we all got into before we left.