Plastic Barrel (I)
The sunlight floods through the rear window, the brown tinged liquid inside the little plastic cylinder becomes washed out. The hand holding the syringe becomes a bleached out silhouette. There’s a sudden infusion, crimson. It dances with the rust colored liquid, swirling around and reaching to the top of the barrel, toward the plunger. Then it all vanishes into a vein. The belt hangs off the arm, like in the movies. The car sits on Figueroa under the overpass north of Temple. This is Los Angeles. Downtown. This is the Los Angeles of my adolescence. The Los Angeles that no […]