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..:: CONTENTS ::..
   Volume VIII, Issue II

..:: POETRY ::..


..:: PROSE ::..

..:: ETC ::..
   Contributor's Notes

..:: ARCHIVES ::..
   Volume I, Issue I
   Volume I, Issue II
   Volume II, Issue I
   Volume II, Issue II
   Volume III, Issue I
   Volume III, Issue II
   Volume IV, Issue I
   Volume IV, Issue II
   Volume V, Issue I
   Volume V, Issue II
   Volume VI, Issue I
   Volume VI, Issue II
   Volume VII, Issue I
   Volume VII, Issue II
   Volume VIII, Issue I

 
Poetry


Diagonal City Block
Spencer Selby

 

Last Saturday, a diagonal city block from here, a man in a black
Taurus was found dead, shot several times in his chest, and this
in the middle of the day.

 

 

Then up the street to Casa Batlló, only a diagonal city block
away. It certainly stood out from the surrounding buildings, a
colorful exterior with a funky exoskeleton of bone-like balconies
and window structures. True to Gaudí's dislike for straight lines
and right angles, the mosaic-covered facade rippled, the roof line
flowed in a nice arc, and the balconies curved out gracefully from
the building.

 

 

Meanwhile, there were signs that Qwest Communications
International Inc., its headquarters a diagonal city block from US
West, might make a hostile bid for the Baby Bell. From their
respective corner offices, Qwest Chief Executive Joseph Nacchio,
on the 15th floor of the Qwest Tower, and Trujillo, on the 52nd
floor of US West headquarters, could see each other's windows.

 

 

The Marines set up defensive positions in the alleyways with
scrap metal from the building wrecks and the forges. Marines
stood in perfectly aligned squadrons, ready for any man or tank
to come rolling down to be shot. Also, the Marines stood on both
sides of a diagonal city block, keeping the south road from the
enemy's grasp. They stood almost like statues for many minutes,
but the silence gave way to some lowering their guns to clean or
check them. After twenty minutes of waiting for their approach
(they were spotted on radar), they could hear the faint chorus of
roaring motors. It was a familiar sound to the soldiers, since the
enemy was one of their own.

 

 

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