Naturally, a dog's vision is in black and white. Choosing to see through their eyes, I relive the 60’s. This time, the leash takes me out for a walk while the clinking of the collar keeps me awake. Further down Memory Lane, voyeurists dressed in pinups and jumpers align themselves across Harley Avenue. Baked smells and barber shops. Volkswagen vans zoom by to the nearest cinema playing a film that is all too convenient. Looking farther into the distance, nociceptors kick at the back of my head. I shouldn’t peer past the rolling hills. Meaning that I should resign with the dog that is as blind as I am. The nearest park houses a bench for us to rest as the city welcomes me, and everyone else going for a walk, too.