n with
shameless bedding and bundles, coughed their way frantically eastward.

Those few shops still unaccountably open were bare of goods and the idle
proprietors walked periodically to the front to scan the western sky to
assure themselves the grass was not yet in sight. But most of the stores
were closed, their windows broken, their signs already tarnished and
decrepit with the age which seems to come so swiftly upon a defunct
business. The sidewalks were littered with rubbish, diagonally flattened
papers, broken boxes, odd shoes. Garbagecans, instead of standing
decorously in alleys or shamefacedly along the curb, sprawled in
lascivious abandon over the pavements, their contents strewn widely.
Dogs and cats, deserted by fond owners, snarled and fought over choicer
tidbits. I had not realized how many people in the city kept pets until
the time came to leave them behind.

At Vermont Avenue I came upon what I was sure was a new nucleus, a lawn
green and tall set between others withered and yellow, but I did not
even bother reporting this to the police for I knew that before long the
main body would take it to its bosom. And now, looking westward, I could
see the grass itself, a half mile away at Normandie. It rose high in the
air, dwarfing the buildings in its path, blotting out the mountains
behind, and giving the illusion of rushing straight at me.

I turned the car north, not with the idea of further observation, but
because standing still in the face of that towering palisade seemed
somehow to invite immediate destruction. I drove slowly and thoughtfully
and then at Melrose the grass came in sight again, creeping down from
Los Feliz. I turned back toward the Civic Center. It would not be more
than a couple of days at most, now, before even downtown was gone.

_26._ During my drive several walkers loaded with awkward bundles raised
imploring thumbs for a ride, but knowing to what lengths desperation
will drive people and not wishing to be robbed of my car, I had pressed
my foot down and driven on. But now as I went along Temple near Rampart
a beautiful woman, incongruously--for it was in the middle of a hot
October--dressed in a fur coat, and with each gloved hand grasping the
handle of a suitcase, stepped in front of me and I had to jam on the
brakes to avoid running over her.

The car stopped, radiator almost touching her, but she made no attempt
to move. A small hat with a tiny fringe of veil concealed her