FOR HIREA.S. Youngless
I watched the glittering cars drive down Vermont Avenue from the observation deck on top of the Griffith Observatory. It was a sequence-filled lava flow made of overpriced leases and beaters thirty years past their prime. My chin rested on my forearm, body leaning into the wall designed to stop people from jumping. The wall wouldn’t stop me if I wanted to do it. Right then I was okay.
An ambulance worked its way through the traffic. It was a slow push. People were either too busy, too trapped, or too apathetic to move out of its way.
“This her?” the client asked. I didn’t recognize his voice. Didn’t turn to look him over.
The boxy red and white bus swerved into oncoming traffic. Disco lights on top, telling everyone to get the hell out of the way. I wished I had
