A script doctor from Flintstones drew the curtains to reveal Mad
Ave where people pass by, walk-on roles in her dead end window.

Cheerleaders knock themselves out, tied together in women’s swimwear.
Odd, one has not learnt it’s scripted.



The street, a cul de sac, casts shadows
over ATM maps bringing more into the live swelter.

Two Spanish-speaking women try new salads.
The contours.