On the way I walked home, I would always pass The Playground.

It was the place that all the kids would play, parents chit chatting on the benches provided from them, their parent sixth sense working on their kids while they talked.

In the center of The Playground was a jungle gym. Not just any jungle gym, either.

It was massive. Around it were low parts, where parents would hold their kid while they climbed a foot of the ground.

And the closer towards the middle you got, the higher the jungle gym got.

In the center was the highest point, a large peak that was about seven feet off of the ground.

One night, as I walked home, I saw a kid sitting there, on the top, looking around.

I stopped, faced him, and looked at him. Then he waved, and I waved back at the temporary King of the Jungle Gym, King of the World.

I kept on walking him, and never knew who that kid was that sat there and waved at me.

But he waved at me, and that’s something, I guess.