the visitors

They stand staring

upper middle-aged in water shoes and cropped sweatpants.

Their faces red from sun and exertion

they climb pale chicken legs up over the levee.

Doe-eyed from a three day tour, their heads swim with Spanish architecture wafting through the marijuana infused air, swollen streets puckered with potholes,

the lingering sounds of an unseen horn playing.

Now they take in the sight

of the waters collecting past the strangled brush

to tell the others

about the city

which is fine to visit

but how can anyone really live there?

They take pictures and smile

stepping slowly back down to the street.

We watch from across the road-Perhaps a cocktail to go?- as an automobile collides with a streetcar.

An elderly man stumbles out and vomits on the neutral ground.


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