In another one of those cities on the edge of the continent (SF, LA, and SD being the big three – this time we’re talking about SD – San Diego), although the weather may be monotonously predictable, life often is not. Sometimes that’s a good thing, sometimes not such a good thing. Anders Flagstad’s new book is a book of short stories about an innocent apartment complex in downtown-ish San Diego, and the innocent and less-than-innocent people living there.
Everybody has a story. Everybody has a life. So do buildings. We think we see buildings, we think we see people and we think we know them. But we don’t. Not really. We see what we want to see. What actually goes on inside – kidnapping, murder, love, death, betrayal, unwashed dishes, parties crashed by homeless men, drag queens leaving their apartments without a sun hat, it would shock and amaze you. Or at least some of you. At least the group that doesn’t live on the edge of the continent. At a minimum, it’s always interesting to watch these edge-of-continent people though, through Flagstad’s eyes, however briefly, and see what goes on in the neighbors’ apartments, late at night, or at high noon, in back of closed and locked doors or hidden behind carefully pulled and fully-extended window shades, especially when said neighbors don’t know they’re being watched.