The sun beats on me as I await the bus, which is running late. There are beautiful plants growing next to a plank of decaying plywood.
Plastic bottles of neon, sugary drinks litter the ground; cosmic brownie packaging; a Smirnoff bottle; can of Modelo; artifacts.
A dusty, bearded man riding a bike turns his head to leer at me and mutters something unintelligible with a smile.
There is the constant whir of the turning wheels of trucks and cars, buses and bicycles.
There is the relief of a cool breeze. The SUN VALLEY clock keeps track of time. Overhead there is the whistle of an airplane and the pleasant chirping of birds.