Sign Maker

Use the crosswalk. The angled heavy metal breaker bar punctures the pea gravel covered ground. Clumps of dirt flare out. Piles accumulate near the thick leather work boots on rubber cushions. The Long Beach laborer is dressed in fine linen, clean and white. The one-piece garment guard reflects the crisp mercy light. Use the crosswalk. During the morning awe the skatepark will receive a second renovation. George, the sign maker is flanked by two post hole diggers. He hands off the clipboard of assignments.

The lacquered finish on the Michael K. Green sign protects the wooden installation from the elements. The signature Comic Sans like font was bored into the signpost with the carefully guided direction of a thick drill bit. The casual and childlike grooves were painted bright yellow. They dug deep and tamped the hole so the foot of the post could stand upright. Like flag-raisers, the survivors put up the approved memorial as an oration of forgiveness and justice.

The Sign Maker creates new signs in the wood shop everyday for our good. They stand out from the others all around the city. You could see what they indicate, but it remains to be seen if we will obey. Man creates stickers of their own thing, and slap them on signs, seen and unseen. There are obstructions on the way to go; a narrow path cuts across the busy road. Heaven’s hero leads us to the life marked by white stripes.