With dusk approaching, a garage band–a good one–plays its last set in the park among some redwoods. An immaculate 1935 Ford sits alone across the street, after all, this is California. Vultures and hawks glide overhead while an abandoned kite struggles on its own to be free from a tree branch. Two guys toss a football–they have the field to themselves. The shadows are getting long–the first Sunday in October will be over soon.