The cashier, who had been leaning against an air freshener display, walked to the large square cut into the plexiglass barrier meant to protect her from desperate people. Shattered glass, when crunched very small, resembles teardrops. The witch imagined what an earthquake could do to this shiny merchandise, the dangerous work that a temblor could create for whomever had to clean up the shards. In Silly’s front window stood an artfully arranged display of glass bongs, pipes and one-hitters. The witch said a silent, quick prayer for her. After muttering at the sky, the woman in the sleeping bag blew a raspberry at it. She looked over her shoulder and saw a woman wearing a sleeping bag, both feet wrapped in shopping bags, shuffle past her car. She parked in the lot’s only vacant spot, and before walking into the mall’s most brightly lit business, Silly’s Smoke Shop, she got a funny feeling and stopped. The witch knew that she could count on the strip mall for highly effective magic. Half of its boxy storefronts were shuttered, plywood nailed over doors, windows, stucco and dreams. Gloom had swallowed the sun, transforming the V-shaped corner strip mall into a gothic oasis. This story is part of “Clearance,” a design issue that peels back the layers of aspirational architecture in L.A., and envisions a more beautiful future that lives a little less on the nose.
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