Circling

Late night surrounds the neighborhood and the cars pack the curb. Wooden gates with hand-made “Do Not Block” signage warn circling drivers. Stretches of red paint mock me. The warning’s heeded.

Second block, the street cleaners anticipate empty stretches of road. They’ve made jokes about the difficulty of the parking signs. Bumper to bumper the neighbors stake their claim and leave no hollows for night owls.

A side street offers sprinklers in the night, left to coat cars in staining cries. A Colorado stretches between two spots, leaving no room on either end for someone else. 

Back to the front and no cars have moved. The curb before my living room signals to me a red temptation. Instead, I keep passing packed curbs, resisting convenience in the face of financial cost.

No. 061