a small business stood where the bathrooms wanted to be

she had run the shop for nineteen years.

she knew which tourists were lying about being locals and which locals were lying about being fine.

she made a chicken salad that was not a metaphor.

the plan called for restrooms.

the plan called for a plaza.

the plan had a rendering with a couple in linen holding ice cream and not making eye contact with each other or with the future.

the plan won, the way plans do, on a wednesday, by one vote, after a recess.

the bathrooms are not built yet.

the shop is not there anymore.

the in-between is a chain-link fence and a permit nobody can find.

this is also a kind of progress, i am told.

i am told a lot of things.