by W.M. Yazbec
Everything sounds likes trouble. There’s only
sounds of agony or displeasure at the pool in my L.A.
courtyard. Children scream a lot. And then at night—
late, everything seems to gain a calm like the omnipresent
snails on the sidewalk here in the summer.
Looking out at these ridiculous hotel room apartments
like Jimmy Stewart makes them seem more valid; unlike
a reality show in which the person with the best hair-do
always seems to win.
I am certainly tired of this and wish there could be better
in all of us, but urban scrapheaps like this don’t offer
hope. Not at $1700 a month for one bedroom next to
a freeway where someone weekly dies and houses
lay empty.
W.M. Yazbec lives in Sherman Oaks, California and has published fiction, poetry, book reviews, and interviews in The Southeast Review, Drumvoices Revue, Black Creek Review, The Chaffin Journal, Chiron Review, and most recently in 21 Stars Review. He is currently an adjunct professor of transdisciplinary studies at Woodbury University in Burbank, California.
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