The walls could enclose anything in their blank, tiled complexion, windows and garage door making a scattered face of some kind. Not confused but deep in thought for afternoons on end. The soft concrete is cracking apart. It looks like Play-Doh that’s been left to bake in the sun.
No parking. I can see a delivery truck pitched like a tent behind a distant warehouse. Otherwise no vehicles anywhere. Sometime the business park is almost supernaturally empty. Nothing but me and two handicapped parking signs on the soft concrete. One leans dramatically like it was struck and never recovered. The other one and I stand straight. I try and fail to right the leaning one, feeling the chilly, hole-punched metal in my hands.
They’re like monoliths, the warehouses. They extend so far.
Between 2 p.m. and 6 p.m. Monday through Sunday. That’s usually when I’m here like a confused ghost or the early moon. Lots to haunt. Shadows can be very long or barely there.
It’s summer and we should be working on the Wishing Well, but Miri left last month for her internship in New York. That’s fine. That leaves me and Liam. But I’m bored. I’m bored and Liam’s boring. I asked him if he wanted to go in the storm drain behind the fairgrounds. I asked him if he wanted to tag the business park with me today. Neither. So it’s just me and two handicapped parking signs.
So more and more I’m the only one coming and tagging in there. There’s a backdoor that never got locked. There’s a door inside someone propped open with an orange bucket. There’s still me, coming and going all summer long. Even when Liam sleeps on his couch and Miri’s gone.
