BUENA PARK, CA
As I peered into the small glass vial, noting the five gold flakes sparkling in the sun, I was 8 years old again and holding a fortune.
In a way I was grasping riches, standing there quietly in Knott’s Berry Farm and enjoying my 52-year-old memories of the theme park as they surfaced one frame at a time.
The stagecoach. The train. The gunslingers roaming the ghost town.