Dog Fight
At the birthday party a small black dog cowered under the food table, tail between its legs, teeth bared. A husky followed it around, looming over it, pestering it with a wet nose. The small dog lunged forward, snapped at the husky, and scurried across the courtyard to its owner who picked it up and caressed it into submission. The husky followed and circled around the now-raised dog. The owner of the husky did not notice the interaction.
No. 081
Ants
In the tall grass on a spring morning a young boy sat on a picnic blanket. A sharp pain in his foot, he turned to scrape at the skin and noticed a mound of ants nearby. Gleefully he took a piece of bread, placed it near the mound, and watched as the workers carried crumb after crumb to their queen. Then, he took his orange soda and flooded the antpile, watching as the ants were washed clean from their home. The thrill wore off quickly, and he forgot about the ants until, walking back to the car, he stepped in the sticky residue of his mess.
No. 078
An Interruption
“When I was a kid, I used to walk looking at the ground. Always my head was bent over. My dad said to me: “Vladimir! Why are your eyes looking toward the ground! Be a man and stand tall!” When I turned 18, I saw the world for the first time. I looked up. I started to move with confidence—I had a goal. I searched how to be an actor in America. So I moved to Boston, I worked for six years in Boston, international hospitality. I studied Kung fu. I learned twelve languages. Then when I thought I was ready, I moved to Los Angeles. Already in a year I’ve been in over twenty films! I go through town, I meet other actors, I ask them: “What have you been in?” They say nothing! Ten years nothing! How can you call yourself an actor, and for ten years not booked a role? I never rest. I’ll take anything. Student film. Independent production. Web series. Every time I get better and better.”
No. 077
Elevator
The doors to the elevator opened, and a couple new to the gym stood inside. “We’re riding it up and down,” she said. I got in and stood beside them, pressing the correct button for the top floor of the garage.
She turned to her boyfriend and continued a conversation. “He was in a pissy mood, too. He said he was going to file a police report. Honestly, I respected the girl behind the front desk for not taking his shit. She called security to come get him.” The doors to the elevator opened, and I let them exit before me.
My mind wandered—Maybe someone took a photo of him in the locker room. Or he found someone rummaging through his locker. Perhaps an ex-boyfriend was stalking him, and he had a restraining order the gym wouldn’t honor. Maybe one of the handsy maintenance guys took too long of a look while he was in the shower.
No. 076
Free
Fresh succulent cuttings grew out of an empty pinot noir case. A hand-written note rested on the side for any neighbors interested in replanting or regrowing them.
A lemon tree plump with fruit grew in the front yard of a house. A cardboard sign reading “Do Not Take Lemons” was tied around the trunk with a thick, layered rope. The lemons glistened in the afternoon sun.
A collection of plates and bowls, cheap and plastic, sat atop a wrinkled tarp. Ants from a mound beside it crawled over the dinnerware.
Neighbors left a couch blocking half the sidewalk. The wooden bones of the structure looked solid and well-made. The cushions could be thrown out and replaced, and the furniture would be good as new.
No. 075
Around
In the hills of Hollywood, public trails run hidden between the winding roads. Along one of them, an abandoned dog collar sat on a rock baking in the sun. Climbing onto the curved road above it, I whipped my head around, expecting to see a car rounding the bend behind me, but it was a phantom noise from vehicles I could not see.
No. 074
Payment Plan
The maintenance associate prepared the invoice and called the man over for payment. She explained the procedure the vehicle needed—extensive engine repair, decades-old wear—and told him it would be a few days, maybe a week, before it was finished.
“We’re remodeling our house,” he told her. “Anything to keep the cost down?”
She offered him a finance plan: a credit card that would be mailed to him. He could look up the APR himself. There seemed to be a card for everything these days—the dentist, the vet, the grocery stores, the box stores. Recently the dealership had gotten into the business, but a guilt gnawed at her trying to sell it.
“Let me see if I can find a coupon.”
No. 073
Consolation
How sad, Spencer thought. Alone at the dive bar, quarter to midnight on a Tuesday. The lone bartender stood behind the counter, organizing the bottles, closing up for the night. Spencer needed a drink—his boss had died suddenly. The otherwise solid foundation of Spencer’s career began to crack like the ice atop a pond as Spring neared.
The bartender’s phone began to ring. Spencer ignored it and nursed his drink, and the bartender kept cleaning behind the bar. Only the dull echo of the abandoned ring accompanied them.
No. 072
Showing Up
“I was up late last night working. Yes, this project is a nightmare, but that wasn’t the whole story. So one of my friends had a dog that died last night, and I went over to her apartment and spent 5 hours with her. I should’ve put up stronger boundaries with this friend—she does this kind of thing all the time. We’ve been friends since college; she doesn’t have family here. I got home after midnight and had to validate all the files until 3 in the morning. Yeah. I know. Then I was up at 7 to touch base with the team again. That's all I’ve been doing today. If I had just told my friend to deal with it herself, I wouldn’t be so tired.”
No. 071
Last Light
An angry email from a colleague arrives. A text message: the car insurance is due. The dog, the plants, the dishes. Rush out of the house to catch the last light—smoke from the Simi Valley rises above the horizon. The sun sinks. A breath in: pieces of ash, then a cough.
No. 070
Comfort
A slender, short man wears a hoodie that covers his face. He walks with a crooked gait, nearly a limp, swaying side to side to keep his face hidden beneath the hood. The eyes scan over yards and fences. Neighbors post signs (“Throw package over fence.”) for this reason, though a fence is hardly a deterrent. A false sense of agency can bring comfort.
No. 069
Decomposition
A few years ago city employees discovered a dead body in the neighborhood, hidden beneath the street. Walking past the spot, I was reminded of this—the people in desperation who head underground to avoid the rain or the heat, who die from starvation. Mole people with a fentanyl stare, my coworker who fears them would say.
As my dog sniffed around the base of plants, I wondered if that was how they were found. There was never a follow up or further information revealed. When the unknown pass they go silently.
No. 068
Refuse
Bag upon bag of environmental detritus lined the street. Tree branches, twigs, and leaves poked holes in the black garbage bags, trying to force themselves back into the world. Instead of deteriorating and returning their nutrients to the soil, they will become trapped in the plastic that will never rot. The manicured hillside, hidden by the fence from the street, will be their prize to keep for themselves.
No. 067
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
Alarm
The automated voice came over the intercom and instructed everyone to proceed to the nearest exit. White lights flashed, accompanied by the high-BPM music that continued to play over the speakers. Nobody moved. The treadmills kept running, barbells kept pushing, and foam rollers kept stretching. The automated voice repeated its warning.
“Sorry,” one of the coaches said to a client. “I was on fire and they had to put me out.”
No. 065
Beware
Flyers reading “Beware” appeared in the neighborhood, on lamp posts, electrical boxes, and the bulletin board by the local grocer. They featured a candid photo, quite ugly, of a grizzled old man with a wiry beard. You could tell from his expression he maintained a nasty demeanor. They were difficult to avoid, their ugliness drawing you in, and the detailed story of the three goats he brought with him offering a bizarre peek into the neighborhood.
He came into the grocer just before closing and grabbed a few bags of birdseed. The cashier recognized him from the flyers, but she did not know what she should do: call the police? Refuse to sell him the birdseed? She looked at the clock and saw the end of her shift and the five minute walk up the street to her home was mere minutes away. She quickly rang up the goods and avoided conversation. The wanted man carried the birdseed out the door and disappeared around the corner.
No. 064
Currents
Currents of electricity run beneath my skin. Seated for too long, the energy has nowhere to go, building towards an inevitable catharsis. In the corner of my eye, the shadow of a tree branch dances, the leaves painting with light against the barren stucco wall. I imagine myself joining the tree, and on the wall beside it appears my own shadow dancing with the rhythm of the wind.
No. 063
Envelope
Pride had been standing in his way for too long. Spencer grabbed a pen and began to draft a letter to his father. When he left for L.A., he had received encouragement and nothing else. His masculine nature allowed him the confidence in independence to leave for a new city where he knew no one, and a new career without anybody to lift him. His father hoped the boy would learn this hubris and come to understand his place in the world was apprenticing with his father, taking the business deep into the 21st century. Spencer detailed the terms for a proposed loan, enough to get him through these difficult months. Finishing it, folding it, fitting it into an envelope, he stared at the blank space, forgetting the address to put on the front.
No. 062