The neighborhood was deathly quiet, which was amazing since it was right in the middle of Los Angeles. It’s never quiet in Los Angeles, but it was here. It was three in the morning though. Most of his neighbors were probably in bed dreaming working class dreams.

He walked past the baseball field and the park where, just a few hours before, there had been easily a hundred people congregating; playing games and having a party complete with a bouncy house. There had been no available parking at all, but they had all gone home now. It was so quiet you could hear yourself breathe. It gave him a sense of uneasiness; as if whatever broke the silence wouldn’t be good. Somewhere in the distance, a dog was barking. He walked on past the park and breathed a sigh of relief. There’s something about walking past an empty park at night that’s more than a little creepy.

On the next block, there were houses on both sides of the street. That late at night, he could actually take a good look at all the houses he passed. They all looked the same with only minor variations. He noticed that there were only two or three basic floor plans. Sometimes, they’d switch it up and put the front door on the left, others were on the right. These houses were all built right after the war. This area was probably turned from a vacant field to a neighborhood full of identical, one-family houses overnight for soldiers returning from battle. These identical little boxes sprouted up from the ground like weeds and stayed put.

He made his way to the last house on the block, right before the alley, and turned into the driveway. The porch light was on and he found it reassuring. He walked up to the heavy security door and put his key in the lock. It turned just like it was supposed to. He went into his bedroom, kicked off his shoes and laid himself down to dream his working class dreams.