Scaffolding goes up and it's either the beginning or the end. Over the next several weeks the ground will be broken, torn up, people will ask me what for and I'll respond I don't know. There will be signs for workers and hard hats, signs about permits and fines, machinery that I'll swear is always abandoned. Some time between asleep and awake men go to work on this new thing. It seems to be build by ghosts, piece by piece appearing over fortnights and fortnights. And people will ask me what it is and I'll have to respond I don't know. It is four walls and a roof, a home to un-new ideas, a place people go to feel worse. And every morning a little bit gets added, and a little bit gets added, and a little more.
This place is changing. It is good when big things change I think, but the little things I want to stay the same. I didn't ever enjoy the grass that was once there, but it was there for me if and when I needed it. Selfish? Yes. I don't mind being selfish about some things. A mommy meant to concrete, to the blandness of man, that is something I can do without.
In time it will be finished, it will be over. A sign gets put up with a phone number. A hollowed out block built for no one in particular, built in the hopes that someone somewhere loves ugly and wants to pay for it. Spending their days in cinder blocks and smoke, thinking about their families in an attempt to stay sane, motivated, useful. Weeks will go by, months, the sign remains, and I won't weep for humanity like I used to.
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