Orange Line
A short story by Daniel A. Olivas
Origonally publish in The Coachella Review, reposted on La Bloga

We sit on the bench waiting for the Orange Line. Rosario reads a Bolaño novel that I gave her last week for her twenty-fourth birthday. In truth, I’d bought it for myself but I couldn’t get past the first thirty pages so I wrapped it in some nice gold wrapping paper, bought a card with a smiling monkey on it (you can’t go wrong with a monkey card), and gave it to Rosario. She loved it, wondered how I knew she wanted to read it. I shrugged. Brilliant, I guess.
I should have brought a book with me. Rosario is buried in Bolaño and I just look around. No one is here, just us. And a long-haired throwback to the seventies who sits on the next bench over to my right. Rosario sits to my left. Where is everyone? It’s Tuesday morning. Yes it’s early, but don’t people work anymore? Funny question since I don’t work, not right now. Between jobs, as they say. And Rosario is getting her masters in English literature at CSUN, so she’s not really working, either.





Los Angeles poet Chiwan Choi has published another section from his current poetry project “If 100, Then 150,” this time in Twelfth House. As Choi said on



