Wow, it’s really humid out, and it looks as though someone threw a potato on the roof of the building next to ours. This means we’ll have a potato patch by October, because the neighboring roof (belonging to a printing plant) is somehow the perfect ecosystem for incongruous and sometimes disgusting things to decompose in like the extreme opposite of those 3-2-1 Contact videos of oranges and dead cats. For over a month, we watched as a pigeon carcass decayed–the result of a seagull massacre about which I felt strangely ambivalent. (That was meant to sound faux-existentialist.) I used to have a photo of a seagull, perched on the ledge of the roof, holding a giant rib (or child’s femur) in his mouth like a cigar. Sadly I cannot find it today.

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