Written by Matthew Stokoe
High Life, 2002
Eight-thirty saw me downtown, standing out front of the Bradbury Building. The area is a dump at the best of times, but afterhours, when the drones have gone home, it turns into a creepy wasteland best avoided if you aren’t carrying a gun. I was safe enough, though. They’d rigged up an entrance awning with a lot of bright lights, and there were enough uniformed guys running to park cars and manning the door to scare away the human shit that would ordinarily have been heaped on the sidewalk.
© 2002 Matthew Stokoe; New York: Akashic Books