i remember on the cliff by ensenada, on the recent edge, a wooden three-legged chair looking out to sea. a small quake or a wind blowing out would carry it over. i wish for a moment i had a picture, i do, a picture better with memory, a memory that couldn't be captured in a picture, that becomes more still, poised and particular on the advancing cliff edge with time. 
further south, on the beach by the town, there was a building tilted onto the sand. children were climbing up through the empty rooms up to the high end of the roof, sliding down laughing.