Moon scoop: the cesspool


NEVER BEFORE have you had the online opportunity to see the innards of a cesspool, but here it is before you.

This is the sort of courageous journalism you don’t find elsewhere. As you may recall, the storefront, almost completed, being built here at the Hacienda has a septic tank. And while all the connections are done, the toilet installed, water at the ready, no one has actually “used the facilities.” The septic tank is still cherry.

So, in the spirit of Geraldo Rivera, I dropped a ladder and headed down this morning. On reaching the gravel floor, I looked about and felt I was in the cloakroom of the Democratic National Committee. I glanced around, expecting to spot Debbie Wasserman Schultz or at least Maxine Waters, but no. The coast was clear.

It was just a generic cesspool.


Above, you see a wall detail. There are spaces in the bricks that provide a filtration effect so the nasty matter can simply become one with the dirt behind.  At the top are two pipes. The larger comes from the bathroom, including the toilet. The smaller is a ventilation tube that extends high into the sky above the bathroom.

Yes, this is the sort of reportage you see nowhere else. Were this a just world, not ruled by White Privilege, I would be awarded a Pulitzer. But I am a Mexican, downtrodden and discriminated against. A loser.

But it’s not my fault.

* * * *

(Note: A blow-by-blow photo gallery of the storefront construction is here.)

Night designs

 Night art

WHEN NATURE calls at 3 a.m. or so, I throw back the cotton sheet and woolen blanket. Yes, a blanket because, even in July, it’s cold here at night, so cold we keep the bedroom windows shut. Only the bathroom window, this small one you see, is kept open, a sort of air conditioner.

I stand and walk across the hall directly into the bathroom where I am treated to night designs. Whether the little window is open or closed, and sometimes it is shut due to the cold, the designs are there, waiting like on a gallery wall, backlit by the big light atop a pole on the other side of the street, far away.

Datura leaves.

So I sit. I sigh. I stand. I head back to the bedroom, giving one final glance at the night designs.

Night art — brought to me by serendipity.