*** ‘Vignette City’ is an ongoing project of daily writing and urban photography ***
The quality of light was really good this morning. A cold but cloudless day, which was a nice change.
In the dog park behind my apartment building there was a pretty, ornate silver stool with clear fake jewels studding the metal legs. Just crouching there in the wet grass like a lost crab. It had two muddy shoe prints on its fluffy top and there was a used hypodermic needle sticking out of it. I shooed Benny away from it and he darted off after a shadow.
I stood there looking down at the stool. A sharp edge of sunlight cut straight across the stool, bisecting it. What went on back here last night? Did someone ditch a stool back here? Then someone else came along and stood on it? Then someone else came along, decided it was a good place to shoot up, sat down, did their business, then moved on? Or did it all happen at once? Somebody carrying a stool, maybe the only thing they had left from the home they once lived in, shoved it down into the soft wet ground, stepped up on it, looked up at the warm yellow glow of my window last night while slipping the needle into their arm? Felt the bright sharp joy blast open their veins? Stumbled away, leaving their perch behind?
I called out to Benny, snapped his leash back on, and we walked away.
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