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Where the Water Would Go
Andres Molina had one page in his folder and a room that wanted a speech. The warehouse permit was last on the agenda. The chair had already looked at the clock. Claire Dodd, speaking for the developer, had gone first. She called the site unused land. She said the city needed the jobs, and he was not going to argue about the jobs. She put a drawing on the table: a clean rectangle, a road, a loading bay, and no water anywhere in the picture.
Andres did not have a drawing like that. He had walked the field the morning after the last heavy rain and come back with mud on his cuffs and a photograph of the fence. The lower wire was dark where the water had stood. From the road the field looked empty.