Let's
say it's 1am
you're
on
'the
wrong side of the tracks'
these
kids say it's
'the
wrong side of the tracks', smirkingly,
from
the other side
of
the tracks.
Anyway
there's this building.
the
main floor, it's shoppes
and
the concrete pavement heaves up
through
the cracks
come
tenacious weeds
twiggy
and indestructible
indifferent to the seasons.
There's
this liquor store
it's
open til 2am
hardened
tradesmen
pull
their trucks up
with
blank faces,
they
pause
before
going in.
There's
this butcher shop
it's
open til 5:30pm
bone
saw,
grinder,
chopping
block,
cleaver.
There's
this shop
dowdy
purple curtains wrinkle
and
break unevenly in the windows
it's
a handjob joint
men
in chinos
look
back furtively
before
going in.
There's
this vacant shop
it's
always closed
exposed
wires hang from junction boxes
throwing
long claw shadows.
Outside,
the lettering glued to the awning above, since,
has
tanned into the vinyl
cracked,
has peeled off, has
aged into powdery crumbs,
blown
away.
once
every few weeks
come
people, have muted conversations
outside
it,exchanging business cards,
concerned
expressions.
An
abandoned bar at the corner of the building
has
a sun bleached 'for sale' sign
taped
to the glass door with translucent brown tape
rust
drips down the diaper stucco when it rains.
Above
the shoppes there's these apartments
one's
got this dog
it
yelps
along
with its owner,
as
it pleases
when the sun is down.
Across
the hall
there's
this couple
they're
having a hard time
and
like
like
I just feel like I've been wasting my time
and
what are you going to do about this?
Then
there's an apartment from which
nothing
much issues
except,
every
couple hours
after
6:45pm til' late
the
click of an opening can,
then
nothing.
