Trash

I was walking home yesterday and the whole city seemed painted grey. Concretized. As if concrete had just been poured over every smidgen of green or brown, and looking up, even the blue sky was blocked by skyscrapers. It's strange I can feel so comfortable in this. Me who grew up sleeping to the sound of the waves and getting stung by bees, barefoot in grass. Fossicking in the vege garden for strawberries and climbing trees for plums. Hiding away under bushes on cliffs over the sea.
I always loved to hide. Anyway, I was walking through the grey, the rain spitting on my face and a girl was curled up sobbing in a doorway. A policeman was bending down, in her face. They spoke in French of course but I understood the gist. He wanted her to move on. She was detracting from the environment. Environment? She was literally sitting in trash, on cracked concrete, graffiti scrawled across broken glass. But she should be removed, because she's the thing no one wants to see.