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The streets of Koreatown are wounded. Battle scars from the earthquake years gouge Western, Olympic, and Sixth, fissures so wide and deep Christina used to believe the Grand Canyon had grown legs and walked itself across the desert and into their neighborhood. In the worst places, the city’s innards are exposed, rusting pipes and crinkled plastic tubes gaping out between the asphalt like offal. Nobody remembers what this secret urban nervous system was used for anymore — lightrails, solar energy, and MRUs have long since made them obsolete — and nobody in charge of anything important cares enough about 150 blocks of Koreans and Latinos and whomever-else to fund a proper cleanup, so the wounds remain.
There’s a big, fat fissure right in-between Christina’s apartment buil... Read more
