The Starving Activist is the sometimes-home for words. AR Neal (that’s me) finds them, cultivates them, and leaves them here. Enjoy.

Daily Prompt: Our House

The street is like so many others in the labyrinthine cemented paths of suburbia; the sun beats down on roofs that cover rooms that wait expectantly for their inhabitants, while yips and yells echo from the various schools of learning spread evenly within the grid of homes which are also spread evenly like patchwork between the homesteads that had been built from the rocks many years before: before the Mormon ideal of North-South-East-West streets made it this far to the northwest; before the thousands of people came to run off the coyote and the mountain lion; before joggers and dog-walkers and kite-flyers. Bursts of sound as half-day children dash to waiting cars at the sidewalk or scream their way home to the waiting and anxious empty homes, and then silence again until the backward exodus of workers bring bright and shiny SUV's hybrids sedans smart cars back to welcoming driveways and take-out meals.

The Daily Post:

Every city and town contains people of different classes: rich, poor, and somewhere in between. What’s it like where you live? If it’s difficult for you to discern and describe the different types of classes in your locale, describe what it was like where you grew up — was it swimming pools and movie stars, industrial and working class, somewhere in between or something completely different?

I offer you a snippet of life at the edge of three worlds--mountain, ocean, desert--that is known as San Bernardino, CA. Welcome to my home...We sit at the base of the Cajon Pass in an area that up until a few years ago was unincorporated. There are horse farms and expansive homesteads with large homes, and the cul-de-sac nightmares that have become the norm of developers across this country. There is "the downtown," touted as not being what it used to be, as being a wasteland, as being dangerous, as being the enclave of the poor or whatever. And of course there are the areas to the northeast and spotted more on the north end in general that include the country club crowd. It is 'every town', where every class and caste of person can be found, sometimes even in the same place. Whether they claim me or not, I claim them all as my people. Because this is home.

Write Now! 18 February: Finding the Way Home

Writing Hiatus