Cleaning
He took the Maserati to the hand car wash. Once the worker pulled the car out of the wash, he crossed the parking lot. “Just need to get something inside,” he said, rooting around in the glove compartment, searching for cash. No dice. He let out a sigh and headed back towards the store office. Inside on the right stood an ATM. Tapping his card against the reader, he answered the questions, $20 the minimum amount he could take out. Card error. He scanned the aisles for a snack and found a bag of beef jerky. At the register selected cash back. When he went to grab his keys, he slipped a five into the hand of the man who detailed it. “Gracias,” he said.
No. 121
Night Shift
Summertime mosquitoes bite the skin of my thigh, leaving itchy, red marks. A car with a single headlight out makes a u-turn in an intersection. A midcentury side table sits in the road. The houses on the corner lack drapes; their carefully curated living rooms are meant to be seen, not lived in. Two houses left their front gates unlatched, dangling into the street.
No. 120
Between State
The sprinklers next door activate after three in the morning. The rhythmic sound of water slapping against the stucco wall wakes me. I stumble into the hallway, and pause in slumbery stupor—a figure at the end of the hallway, shrouded in misty light. A reminder: “Wandering lakes have a shimmering surface—how deep the water goes? Throw a stone and find out.”
No. 119
Heads
She hesitated after hearing the question. It was always a gamble: to consult her husband, or make the decision herself? He never felt strongly either way, so she knew when to act.
“I was hoping for the red oak. Let’s see these options.—No.—No.—This canyon hickory looks nice. Yes, close to the color. How much per square foot?—Really?—No, no. That’s fine, I suppose that’s fine. Insurance is covering it anyway. That won’t eat into it too much, I don’t think.”
The contractor put in the order, said they would be able to install the floors next week. The plan that day was to place the new layer of concrete. After pulling up the molding carpets, they discovered the subfloor was uneven, and it needed to lay flat before the hardwood.
The renovation had gone like that—protracted. She grabbed her toddler’s necessities from the bedroom and bathroom: toiletries, stuffed animals, games, a change of clothes. They wouldn’t be able to enter for a day or two as the concrete hardened. She stood at the end of the hallway, watching the workers. In her mind’s eye, she pictured the finished area and smiled.
No. 118
Tails
He hesitated after hearing the question. It was always a gamble: to tell the truth, or exaggerate? The weight of reality overwhelmed him, and he needed to release it.
“My toddler flooded his first floor bathroom and bedroom a couple months ago. So we’ve been dealing with that.—Yeah, it’s been a nightmare.—My wife’s actually very excited to remodel the house. I guess it’s good to see the silver lining. But you don’t want to spend a holiday weekend remodeling.”
As he said it there remained in the back of his mind a suspicion that his wife had been hiding some fact from him. It’s true, he received the call from her when the flood happened. The water removal company came with their pumps and fans and tarps. He remembered the mildewy smell coming back from the hotel, and hearing the roar of the fans. It took days before the house felt fresh again.
And his wife had been so quick with the renovations. Types of wood floors and wainscoting developed for what seemed like pre-planned opulence.
It was ridiculous to suspect her, he thought. The renovations he could afford, and he, too, anticipated the renewal, despite the headache of turning the home into a worksite temporarily.
No. 117
Message
She ran her fingers along the fabric, touching cotton, wool, fleece. The thrift store had significant turnover about once a month, and she’d check the second Sunday. At the end of her size, a denim jacket hung on the rack. Vintage. She fit her arms into the thick denim, stretched it over her back, then walked over to a mirror. Looking over herself at odd angles, she pressed her hands into the pockets.
Her fingers caressed folded paper. Carefully, she pulled her hand out and unfolded a note. Scrawled across the top: “To Do” with a date twenty years before.
“Go to the grocery store. Tomatoes. Bread. Stop at the bank. Call Greg back—tell him Tuesday.”
No. 116
Dance
The man draped a blanket over his shoulders. It billowed over his frame as he gyrated on the median beneath the overpass. Swinging his arms around him, the fabric swam through the air, curving and flowing in spirals. He crouched down so the blanket fell over him. Then standing upright and twisting his body, it rose and filled with air, then rested again against the curve of his body as he continued the rhythmic movement.
No. 115
Planning
The city planted a sapling beside the sidewalk, so in its adulthood it would provide necessary shade. As it grew, the root network extended out, pressing against the pavement, turning it over. Between the cracks, flowering weeds sprouted among the roots. Now on a summer day, the cracks run green and pedestrians walk with care.
No. 114
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
Inspection
Three men lowered the flag at the Iraqi consulate. One manned the ropes, pulling the flag slowly towards them. The second man held his arms outstretched to grab the dropping corner as it approached the ground. The third man observed from the side. Once they retrieved it, the third man turned the fabric over in his hands.
Then, the first man started pulling the ropes in the other way. The others raised it above their heads until the wind got hold and the fabric flew.
No. 112
A Gift
The sun descends behind the mountain, changing the light. The breeze adjusts its mood, brings a chill into the canyon. A man in a sport coat opens a metal gate to a bungalow hidden behind a manicured bush. Leaving the gate open, it’s easy to watch him place a single tulip on the brick steps. He knocks three times, though I cannot hear it. Returning to the sidewalk, the metal gate closes slowly, then latches with a click. Sunlight briefly illuminated the tulip as the man stepped away, then it disappeared from my sight.
No. 111
Gone Fishing
Middle of the workday, forced to confront the millennium. To transform data—1s and 0s—into a DNA sequence—ATGC—and save as a dehydrated dust. Resting on a shelf for 500 years, 1,000 years. Fast-forward: who’s there? To place a capsule on the shelf is to say, Yes, I believe you will survive. It begs more questions than answers. When you cast a rod, you don’t question whether there will be fish.
No. 110
Exclusion
George grabbed a seat in the back row and laid his coat across the seat beside him. He had asked his friend, M., to join him. “Keeping my options open,” was all he said in response. George knew what that meant and decided to attend the film screening alone.
George arrived early, as per usual, and picked at a bucket of popcorn growing-cold. Other patrons entered the theater, took their seats, and the room filled up around him. He enjoyed the dull hum of a crowd and listened in on the conversations.
Close to showtime, George watched M. enter the theater with a pair of friends, whom George disliked. Laughing, they took seats across the room. George sunk low in the chair and pulled the coat over him. As the lights dimmed, he found solace in the darkness.
No. 109
Passage
A father hoisted his toddler onto his shoulders while waiting to cross the street. The intersection had a North-South crosswalk on the opposite side; he waited for the signal to cross before having to wait to cross again. Growing impatient, he decided to make an effort on the side with no walkway while the light remained red. He stepped into traffic, and halfway to the other side, the light turned green. He did not speed up his gait. Instead, he made the oncoming traffic wait for him while his son sat atop his shoulders oblivious to the situation.
No. 108
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
Stalled
At the end of the date, Spencer and The Girl walked back to his car. He parked along a side road in Hollywood to save money and walked to the restaurant. She took a Waymo. The date had been without incident, positive or negative, and Spencer was surprised when she agreed to go back to his apartment.
Coming up to his car, Spencer mumbled a quick phrase denigrating it: how busted; needs a wash; hand-me-down from his cousin. He inserted the key into the passenger door, opened it for her, knelt down and threw some papers and an empty bottle into the backseat. With an embarrassed smile, he avoided her eyes, then circled the car to the driver’s side. As he removed the steering lock, he turned and said: “I didn’t think you’d say yes.”
He turned the key, and the engine sputtered before stalling. His heart rate quickened. “Sometimes it takes a few tries.” He tried again, then again, then again. He rested his forehead on the steering wheel.
“It’s okay,” she said. “I’ll get a ride. Thank you for dinner.”
No. 106
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
Remodel
A bought for sale stilt house in the neighborhood began undergoing renovations. They would, I imagine, tear it down and start anew, once they’ve cleared its insides. The layered brick driveway became ground for trash and debris. A plastic bag holding decorative rocks. A mirror lying face up, corner shattered, jagged scars running up the glass. A piece of paper reading only: “This page intentionally left blank.”
No. 104
New Hire
The new guy came up to our floor after receiving his onboarding information from HR. He spoke with our team assistant, detailing his drive from Chicago to Los Angeles. Three days across the country, no stops. I’ve known people who took joy in the trip, elongated it, went camping, stopped at the kitschy roadside tourist traps. The new hire speedran it, sleeping in his car. He didn’t sign the papers for his new apartment until the day before; the process had taken over a month. He was sleeping at a hotel downtown in the meantime. At the very end, he mentioned his mother and father, still back in Chicago, who lamented his leaving home for the first time.
No. 103
Solstice
An elderly neighbor carried a red umbrella onto her back patio. She carefully placed it in its holder, then with shaky hands lifted the central runner, stretching the canopy into its open position. Once settled, she used a frayed rope to tie the umbrella to the railing along the deck. As she sat in the shade, she listened to the wind and birdsong, the first sounds of summer.
No. 102