*auto-fiction (fictional memoir) ### I was eight years old when I lived in the room. My folks had just moved the three of us twelve miles inland from Coastal Ventura—90 miles north of Los Angeles—to mountainous Ojai. It was 1991. A sloping, fast-paced road called La Luna Ave ran outside of the boundary of our home, paralleling the 12-foot-tall Bougainvillea bushes. A gate protected us from the outside world. Cars rammed back and forth on the road. I felt, even then, trapped, both physically and emotionally.
"Where's the damn floor?" Love
An immersive, emotive piece!