For our first date, I envision San Marino or Pasadena. You dismiss the lush botanical gardens, laugh at the jet propulsion lab. That old tech chem plant in Encino, you decide, the one converted into a tire recycling compound. I subside. Besides the glimpse of your wide shoulders in white T-shirts, I love your keen eye for industrial minimalism.
I arrive one hour earlier to get adjusted to the space. I contemplate the building from the bare parking lot. The immaculate walls of the exterior, the straight lines of the red letters are just like you—generous, truthful.
The hot breeze brings a whiff of fire. Someone burns the unrecyclable tires in the backyard. Undeterred, the façade still shines. The sky is aglow. There’s so much hope in these reds braided with tendrils of blackened clouds.
You never come. The sunset drips in. The pauses in the traffic get longer.
About the Creator
Alina Z
Alina likes psychological thrillers that happen up there, on the orbit. She lives in South California, loves to read and prefers writing in third limited.
Comments (1)
lovely❤️