Business Park Observer

Claw man is doing that thing where he drags the two hoses behind him like a fishing net. But he's not going to catch anything in this desolate asphalt sea. Or maybe he will, I'll keep an eye out.

Newish blue Ford Mustang now parked in the spot by the fire hydrant, I remember this car, the woman pulled up to far last time she was here and the front of the car was hanging out over the slope. She gets out; a little guy in a black karate outfit springs out of the back, and they walk over to the martial artist's studio. Heeeya.

In one hand a white bucket, in the other, a rod with a three-fingered claw, Claw-on-a-stick man picks his way through the green ivy-covered edges of the parking lot. He's not going in the grass though, because the sprinklers are one.

A woman with a low-slung leather purse makes her way across the parking lot to a grey minivan. The van looks like it survived some kind of amazing catastrophe only by the the narrowest of margins, and might have been on fire recently.

Truck with the chairs is gone. A shiny little blue sedan has pulled up to sniff the butt of the black chevy S-10.

A couple of kids run across the street.

A lady in a pink, sleeveless shirt drops her sunglasses as she's opening the door to her little brown Toyota.

I look up again and the Volvo is gone.

A nice silver Volvo with a sunroof has parked. It's boxy, not one of the newer melted-looking ones.

The sun shines hazily down on the business park. There are many empty parking spaces out front. The security agency has its door open. The trees indicate a gentle breeze is blowing over the lot. A pickup with some folded tables and an ancient television set in the back is parked on the street, facing up the road at the rear end of the black Chevy with the For Sale signs.