Drifter’s Log
June 28: 8am, 64°. Marine layer settled in overnight. Ring of sunlight barely visible in the clouds.
June 29: 1pm, 73°. Nestled on the sand beneath a palm. No breeze. A bead of sweat ran down my temple.
June 30: 9pm, 67°. Draped the blanket around my shoulders. A shiver across my body. Moved the car again.
July 2: 2am, 60°. Awakened to the sound of rain. Looking out the rear window: the arc of a sprinkler’s daughter. This will leave streaks in the dirt, I thought.
No. 113
For Sale
The early dawn sunlight filtered through the canopy above Beachwood Canyon. She stepped out of her van and breathed the morning air light and crisp. Roads this early were quiet; only the remnant signage from the weekday construction offered a reminder of the clamor of the day. She removed the mobile clothing racks she brought with her, then uncovered the piles of vintage clothing she came to sell. Unfurling fabric, she visualized dollar signs in the stitching. Wilted petals of a jacaranda late in bloom fell around her as she awaited passing customers.
No. 066