Shadows pass across the bottle of Corona like clouds across a golden summer sky. The liquid inside the bottle sloshes drunkenly in rhythm with the train.
Outside, scenery flies by smoothly, ugly squalor and beautiful coastlines constantly contradict each other.
Passengers exist together but operate independently for the most part. The odd gregarious traveler rambles on to another who is pretending to listen.
The music plays through headphones. The sky is darkening over the suburbs. Backyard pools seem as cold as the arctic seas. Passengers hardly notice the sudden darkness of the tunnel outside.
The girl across the isle moisturizes as the sun shines on coast. The prattling continues behind me flowing without boundaries, endless. The girl across the isle makes up her face for the second time. Six different brushes apply layers of synthetic plaster each one imperceptivity reorganizing her features.
The shadows of palm trees lengthen in the light of late afternoon. Talking finished and makeup applied; passengers are in repose under the quiet shade. They have been seduced by the waves crashing on the rocky shore.
R.V.s line the coastal road, behemoths with satellite and GPS, contrasting the natural around them.
The pristine coastal cities aren't immune to graffiti. Urban art penetrates these communities without regard for social standing.
The smell of microwaved preserved foods permeates the stale air like foot odor in a musty locker room, deep and inescapable.