Last Lighting

He found the listing the day it was posted and toured it the next. He signed the lease on Monday and had two weeks to pack his life. He stayed up late into the night, scrolling through the listing just to see the photographs and envision where he would place the couch, which windows would house the plants, and how the light would come through the Juliet balcony in the evenings, leaving striated shadows from the setting sun.

Once he moved in, he took a glass of wine, stood against the balcony, and felt a sense of calm that returned to him as an old, familiar friend. Then, falling asleep that first night, he noticed the street light outside his window was colored deep purple, and illuminated the street in a disorienting violet hue. The shade came through the slats of the window, and Jason found it impossible to fall asleep.

No. 170

A Wait

The new bus stops had a staggered row of narrow seats. Still he felt awkward about using them, able-bodied and guilty for taking a moment of respite when he could otherwise stand. A woman with overflowing tote bags sat, bags at her feet, on the seat beside her, tumbling off of a rolling cart. He looked up at the arrival times. “Bus should be here,” he thought quickly, then pushed the thought aside. Across the street a man played on his phone while a dog finished off a fast food bag. Two teens on e-bikes rode in the street, yelling about the lack of space between cars. Behind him somebody overturned the trash can and dug through for empty bottles, filling their own sack with clinking glass. He turned the volume up on his headphones, then flicked his eyes back to the arrival chart. 

No. 141

drought

A well in a drought: parched soil, brown grass, dried-out wooden bucket hanging from a frayed rope. Above in the sky sit white clouds that threaten continued dryness. As a kid I heard the sky is blue from reflecting the ocean, but that’s a misconception. The blue wavelengths scatter across the sky in all directions. Still, looking up I am reminded of vast oceans of water. Sometimes the myths are more comforting.

No. 024