Recorded

He arranged his phone atop aerobic steps on a set of black risers. The barbell sat in the walkout zone of a squat rack. He turned around, and gestured for me to take out my headphones.

“Do you mind if I record you?” he asked. Off my confusion: “I’m recording myself. You’re in the shot, is that okay?”

“As long as you don’t mind looking at me,” I said.

“I don’t care. It’s so I can check my form.”

I shrugged; he pressed record, hinged at the hips, and began to deadlift. I thought it was a good idea he decided to record himself.

No. 105

Diurnal

Afternoon, late spring. A neighbor’s overgrown garden sits in the shade, chimney covered with a tarp for months, chipped bricks piled at its base. From the weeds a coyote escapes, stepping gingerly between the plants and debris. The animal thin—it moves slowly, pauses to turn and look at us with a sense of disorientation behind its eyes. The sun shines off its pale grey coat as it returns to the shadows.

No. 088

Fern 2

Halfway through the season spring cleaning inspired the owner of the dying fern. By the time I walked past it again two days later, the plant had been removed, put in an organic waste bin. Only a single, weathered frond lay in its former place, the sole reminder of what had been. I felt to blame, a little bit, as if by voicing its observation I had written its demise.

No. 058

No Events

Two men in lawn chairs smoke cigars. I smelled them before I saw them.

An older man in his yard, drawing pad across his crossed knees, sketches a tree.

A young guy in sweats and a ribbed tank negotiates a contract on the phone: “15% of gross profits…”

A couple walks their dog in front of me, arguing: “Cassandra said you would text me a photo once you finished in the study.”

A working actor’s support group meets up outside an apartment building. A young woman shows off her new headshot. Another woman approaches the group: “Gracie! Hugs all around!”

A man smokes a cigarette, pacing on the sidewalk beside them.

A pregnant woman walks a dog and eyes me warily.

A man bounces a baby on his knee on the balcony above.

Another man, shrouded by trees, leans over the roof of his building and looks down at the street below.

A woman idling in her car backs up to make room for a sedan exiting a garage. The sedan waits as several vehicles drive past; the streetlight must’ve just changed.

A runner keeps pace and moves around a couple pushing a stroller.

My dog rolls around in the grass beneath a no trespassing sign: “No events may be held in yard without permission of property owner.”

No. 029