Holding my arms around my knees I gaze out the window toward a horizon interrupted by buildings
I look out at them, as they face me in an un-assuming posture, ambivalent to my existence
On either side are people, scurrying in the glimmering afternoon sunlight. They gather possessions to hide in their closets. And every parcel is an amount of pollution. What if there were fewer of us? Unnecessary ones, incompetent ones.
I suppose there’d be fewer yard sales