Swerve

His helmet skidded across the asphalt. The vintage jacket became scuffed as he rolled to a stop. Rocks along the sidewalk scratched the body of the bike, parallel marks running together. From his pockets landed his phone, a lighter, a pack of cigarettes, some spare coins, a pair of sunglasses (now cracked), a creased business card, and a lengthy receipt that floated away in the wind. Standing, he brushed desert dust off his jeans and pushed his finger through a new hole in the fabric, white threads marking the injury. Pulling it back, he saw a little blood on his finger, then put it in his mouth.

No. 137

destruct

An elderly woman lives in the house on the corner, has for decades. The trees on her property had grown tall and lush; they left her yard in constant shade, a shadowy grove hidden behind a rickety, white fence. Over time the wood has rotted. A handmade wooden stand holds empty glass bottles filled with rainwater. Orchids nestled in the crook between branches grow wild, are beautiful in bloom when the speckled sunlight finds its path between mottled leaves. 

Landscapers for the week have parked their trucks, radio emitting the same playlist every day. They cut down the canopy in the back and piled branches along the roadside. They dismantled her tall fence and began to replace it with sturdier, darker wood. They culled the previously-wild front yard. After the work, any passerby can now see straight through to her front deck. The rattan chairs coming apart at the joints. The glass table holding a ceramic ashtray, several burnt stubs interred. If one stopped to look closely, they would see the yellow eyes of a rat, opossum, or skunk through the holes in the damaged planks.

No. 107

Transfers

“Hello, my name is Spencer Greenwood, date of birth July 12, 1999. My primary care doctor ordered me some replacement parts for my pump, and they were shipped to a V.D.L. Enterprises warehouse, which is you guys. I want to know where it is, and—No, don’t transfer me. I’ve already been transferred four times. Please—Let me explain—I was traveling and damaged the reservoir on my pump, my primary doctor ordered me a replacement one, but did not send it to my home address. He sent it to your medical warehouse. I need to know that it arrived, and I need to make sure that it’s being sent to my correct address.—Yes.—Yes.—Do you have a tracking number?—And this has expected delivery on Wednesday?—Okay, because I cannot receive it after Wednesday.—Do you have a tracking number for me?—EightEightTwoThree….—Maybe let’s switch that to overnight. So it can arrive on Tuesday,  and even if it’s late it will arrive by evening Wednesday latest, when I need to switch it out.—Yes.—Yes.—July 12, 1999. The address is FourSevenEight….—Yes. Thank you. I need to receive the shipment by Wednesday, or I’ll need to go to the hospital. It was a horrible mix-up. I’ve already spoken with my doctor. Yes, he feels horrible, but, really, I feel even worse. Thank you for understanding and helping me out. Do you have a phone number so I can call back if there are any problems tomorrow?”

No. 045

Caught Staring

A man my age sat on a mound of grass against the trunk of a palm tree. With his hands he caressed a dog, shaking its golden-auburn ears and making faces at it. Caught staring. I rounded the corner quickly, and the man caught sight of me, suddenly leaning backwards, dropping his arms, and returning his expression to a blank stillness. An intimate moment disturbed. I would not judge him, though I could not blame him the impulse to think so.

No. 038