WHEN THE MEMBRANE SPLITS
Anton and I were walking down a dark side street searching for my lost car when I spotted something weird. It was the same L.A. urbanscape as always—rows of parked cars, thick-rooted ficus, dumpy apartments and houses with yards and more parked cars in driveways—all identifiable, bathed in the sick tangerine glow of streetlights.
There was a shadowy thing on the street ahead, something unidentifiable, lurching forward in jerking spasms and seeming to hover slightly above the ground. Its sudden appearance made me reach out and grab Anton’s hand.
This odd shape was not on the list of sights I expected to see: other couples coming from dinner, groups of friends heading to a nearby bar, or maybe a gang of gangbangers, or a homeless person pushing a shopping cart piled high with plastic water bottles and black trash bags. Read more in the Write Launch