Brevity

Sometime, the construction workers mixed glitter in with the sidewalk's cement, considered Blair Abernathy. It glimmered as she walked down the street studying the craftsmanship. As whimsical a thought, it wasn't a trump enough for her disenchantment. Her taste buds tingled with the sting of vodka. Her general passe blase was inexplicable to the common passerby, often misconstrued as a fashionable apathy of Los Angeles.

Arriving at the yellow apartment complex, she understood the orange tree stooped with mandarin earrings. It was the only decoration for an otherwise plain yard. Cement blocks spread over the small square of dead grass forcing up some sort of concrete necropolis. Or maybe it was where her landlord put the dismembered bodies of his victims who didn't pay rent. Landlord was the contradiction of stench and starched shirts. Blair couldn't decide as to whether he was a serial killer or liked little girls. The landlord plot was fun upon moving in three years ago. Who doesn't want to live with a psychopath in the same building? This last year when she saw him in the hall, though, a nod was all worth giving up. All else was understood. It wasn't any fun to think about it. Formalities were shot. And with common acknowledgment came the waning of any significance of really, just anything, and was lost on the smog of the skyline.

Occasionally she'd step up onto the roof to watch Hollywood on its knees.