Nob Hill, Portland

The streets were empty, one car blinked its four-ways while the driver gathered things from inside. Soon the trucks came to scoop up the wet leaves and sweep the streets. The clouds barreled across the sky. The people scurried across the parking lot. On the corner the rough, red edges of the unfinished building took up too much of the sky and the whole block felt raw. In the courtyard the yellow leaves rattled inside the tree and settled with the rain.