There is nothing finer
than standing in line
at an ARCO,
gas pumping your American-made,
not knowing anything
except for your preferred gas station snack
and the miles to your destination,
trash piling in the passenger seat,
a mosaic built from shattered potato chips.
Nothing matters in Silicon Valley.
You could marry a software developer
who invents fake statistics
and corrects your grammar.
He insists on naming your first dog Siri,
and then all of its replacements, too.
You grow old together as dinks
but Siri 4 gives you allergies so you drive it to a farm,
somewhere plain and wide for Siri 4 to roam
with windmills and yellow grass,
where wheat fields resemble stacks of manilla folders.
Somewhere along the way
you pull off at an ARCO
and pour water into a retractable dog bowl.
You run inside to grab an Almond Joy and a Red Bull,
so pleased with yourself
for remembering what you love,
for knowing what matters,
for making all the right choices.
YOU ARRIVE JOBLESS IN SILICON VALLEY.
MAKE A CHOICE:
ASK CHATGPT FOR CAREER ADVICE <PAGE 27>
OR
ATTEND A JOB INTERVIEW < PAGE 31>
ASK
CHAT
GPT
YOU: how to land a job in a new city?
SEARCHING
- – – – – – – – – –THE
- – – – – – – – – – – –WE
– – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – –
– – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – –
– – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – –
– – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – –
– – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – –
– – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – –
– – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – –
– – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – –
Chat GPT: Arrive with a minimal budget, secure short-term
housing (hostel or shared rental), and immediately register with local
temp agencies and gig platforms. Prioritize jobs that off er fast pay
(delivery, service industry, manual labor). Network daily—visit coworking
spaces, events, and local cafés. Stay flexible, keep costs low, and treat every
connection as a potential opportunity. Attend a job interview as soon as
one is available.
TO PROCEED,
SELECT THE BOX BELOW
NOT A ROBOT
TO ATTEND YOUR FIRST JOB INTERVIEW,
CUT ALONG THE DOTTED LINE AND FLIP TO <PAGE 31>
———————————————————————
The Interviewer found
Your Honesty startling,
but you remind him of his daughter.
Against his better judgement,
You’re given a second chance
on the first floor.
Flip this half of the page to continue to
your first day of work. < < page 31> >
INTERVIEW
INTERVIEW
INTERVIEW
INTERVIEW
INTERVIEW
INTERVIEW
INTERVIEW
INTERVIEW
FIRSTFLOOR
FIRSTFLOOR
FIRSTFLOOR
FIRSTFLOOR
FIRSTFLOOR
FIRSTFLOOR
FIRSTFLOOR
FIRSTFLOOR
FIRSTFLOOR
FIRSTFLOOR
INTERVIEW
IF I COULD SUMMARIZE
THE BETTER PARTS OF
MYSELF
into something that lasts,
like a wax figurine,
I’d dress her in cotton underwear
and a hula skirt
and pray she won’t melt
on the dashboard of my car.
In the rearview mirror
of a white Volkswagen Jetta,
humming to bathroom pop
and not driving stick,
she’s spinning out somewhere
on the floor
looking for lipstick.
I imagine mourning her
on I-94—
all my generosity, my gentle spirit,
my greatest strengths and weakness,
grieving things
on bleeding knees
between traffic lights.
I pray for an open casket
and I rain and she’ll
promise
to haunt me.
CONTINUE TO THE FIRST FLOOR <PAGE 31>
F I R S T
F L O O R
IT FEELS
SO GOOD
to get hired
part-time
to watch the door,
but my boss is a hypocrite
so during my thirty
I set off fireworks
to light up all the windows
red and green.
I can disrupt traffic cuz
the whole world’s in a meeting.
5 o’clock shadows
sucking their thumbs,
crullers cuz that’s all that’s left,
wrist watches, documents
warm from the printer and
warmer than the home.
AN EXPLOSION
An intern holds the success report to her perfect chest,
someone pulls out their phone to record it,
and I am touching my toes
on the first floor of a skyscraper,
trying to get in,
prank calling my cousin,
reaching for something,
for the right button
to hail taxis from the roof,
to save everyone
like that’s what I’m searching for.
CHOOSE A PATH:
MOMMY AND ME: START HERE
A hand keeps
weakly steeping
breathing tea leaves
in the dirty seat
sits a body with a mouth
sips a mug from The Valley.
American dreaming,
that White Noise feeling,
car horns beeping
for radical change.
Ask me to
leave
sweetly
I will
dream
on egg cartons
and recycle,
needing
organic kiwi
dried seaweed
fleece pajamas
stomach acid
needing
some beached
meaning,
some bleached
lung breathing.
We speak briefly
chatter freely
John’s a mess,
Jane’s still breastfeeding
kissing cheeks
in radio speak:
I’ll see you next week
LIP FLIP
START HERE: I’M CARRYING FROZEN GROCERIES
two arms full.
Plastic handles
slicing my
veins like
scissors on a
circuit board.
Some earth
kicks my
Antonio Vietri pump
and the shoe
flies down
the skyline,
landing lakeside
at the foot
of a flightless bird.
Talloned to the insole,
its feathers flap fucking wild
like the eyelashes of a Miami divorcée.
Somewhere
there’s a man
shadowed
beneath a
billboard
that reads:
More
Christmas lights.
More
Kissing.
Somewhere
the sky blushes down on me:
batting lifted eyes
her Botox cheeks
pinching black in the pupils.
Crows feet
stepping on me
at the surface
of a sidewalk
ending.
CHOICES MATTER
I CARRY
a ruler
wherever I go
to measure how good I’m becoming
and how far I’ve gone
from chlorine
to cold water
where I paint my neighbors’ faces
with new expressions,
a light box
impressing images
of things I never was.
I’m the girl in the kitchen window
reaching for the fruit bowl,
composting herself
in the sidewalk chalk,
in the washing machine,
in the litter of my old parking spot,
hoping my choices matter.
I trace her lip
on the sharp edge
of my right thumb nail
which breaks each morning
against the dial of my bike lock.
She measures her hand
against my palm
asking for the time,
for more time,
white-knuckled
gripping my fingers
like she’s moving the arm of a clock.
We are both on stilts
running against the wind
crashing softly
into our own arms,
making lines in the sand.
