Vernal

Meanwhile, I’m led to the bluff above the waterfront. “I like to come here to meditate sometimes,” the leader says, “Look at the water below. What do you think?”

“I think your ski-masks are on too tight.”

“Balaclavas.”

The others more or less shove me to the ground. My camera follows. 

“Regardless, I think the mouth holes are three times bigger than the eye and ear holes. And that says something.”

He waves this off. “Look how beautiful the river is here.” He stands on a tire swing for a better look. 
“It burns bright blue in the sunlight. An endangered natural wonder.” He’s nothing but a mixed-up kid. The other maskers mill about, passing around a 40. Kids. All of ’em. 

The blue water, as far as I can see, is a nearshore lagoon; it’s the lime sludge storage basin from the nearby wastewater treatment plant they’re protesting.