a secret place

Underneath the electric grid the fields are left alone. It has an abandoned quality that I enjoy. No sidewalk here, a dirt path. The field is wrapped in a security fence. No trespassing. A woman slips out with a dog, and back through another open section of fence to a path beside the river/sewage drain. If she wasn’t there… on past a jangle of cars, sharp points of steel and glass, light reflected at too many angles… I turn back. More people pile out of the fence, all wearing torn out, grimy hazard vests. A good scheme in these desperate times. They looked nervously at my camera, but something about me made it OK. On past layers of funk, their suffering billowing over me like a poison cloud, kids crying, big guys sweating, cackling, the heated gravel squeaked and gave way.

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