Green.

Warning: fragmented thoughts.
____

The almost vertical street met up with me, greeting my knees harshly. I threaded the ground slowly hoping it would meet me gently next time. I was hoping it would give my heart more time to respond properly to its harsh climb.


It felt like a light snowstorm, except it wasn’t snow; it was rain, down El Camino Real Ave. If you stared at incoming headlights or a light post, you could see the queer resemblance between the water droplets and millions of tiny snowflakes. I could walk days on end in that weather.

The tiny droplets tinged my skin red. They relieved my tension filled skin, parched from the sweet face of the sun. Greenery peppered the curvy hillsides of B.S.M., a small town where the only exciting news are the $1,300 ambulance rides to the emergency room, or last week’s high profile purse thief. It’s a small town for big town people. The only intruders - a friend told me - are small deer walking about the city, hoping the strangers would one day leave their home in peace.


The stench of the bus emanated from the soul of the bus: the heater. I almost spilled my morning breakfast before we passed the mustard-green hills of San Fernando Valley, but I made it home.

I will miss the green and the gray. I hope to see the rolling concrete hills again, just as much as its verdant friends.