Wasteland King (2016)
Wasteland King
“Once, the town had sat in the middle of wheat-growing land, and in late summer some hollows or forgotten corners still held tasseled golden heads among weeds and the edges of forgotten irrigation ditches.
Even the best of towns can metastasize into a city, sometimes almost overnight.
During the big boom in the late seventies and early eighties, factory workers needed somewhere to live, so all the farmland was unceremoniously turned into cheap housing. When the inevitable crash came, a protracte...d strangling death visited the trailer parks and already-crumbling apartment complexes. The Sevens held one of each, squeezed together just on the edge of downtown, hidden by the freeway’s concrete tangle.
If you knew how to do it, you could slip through the fence near the West 80 interchange and follow thin dusty paths through blackberries grown high enough to meet over your head. If you were lucky, or had a guide, or memorized the route—though Brat swore the paths changed sometimes—you would eventually come out in a belt of worn-out bushes with dispirited yellow tingeing their leaves, their branches full of shredded plastic bags the wind fingered with a whisper and their roots forcing through a jumble of assorted rubbish.MoreLess
Even the best of towns can metastasize into a city, sometimes almost overnight.
During the big boom in the late seventies and early eighties, factory workers needed somewhere to live, so all the farmland was unceremoniously turned into cheap housing. When the inevitable crash came, a protracte...d strangling death visited the trailer parks and already-crumbling apartment complexes. The Sevens held one of each, squeezed together just on the edge of downtown, hidden by the freeway’s concrete tangle.
If you knew how to do it, you could slip through the fence near the West 80 interchange and follow thin dusty paths through blackberries grown high enough to meet over your head. If you were lucky, or had a guide, or memorized the route—though Brat swore the paths changed sometimes—you would eventually come out in a belt of worn-out bushes with dispirited yellow tingeing their leaves, their branches full of shredded plastic bags the wind fingered with a whisper and their roots forcing through a jumble of assorted rubbish.MoreLess
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