407 King Street, NOTL

On the way to Pillar and Post, past the crew cut smooth lawns brushed against the crisp white picket fences, I witness an untenable collapse of etiquette. The white picket fence turns broad two and four green staves like poorly kept teeth, leaning into each other, a hairy thicket pours over its border, wild moustache. The lawn turns woods and runs like this for some 50 yards, clearly property, rampant with boughs and leaves, almost shoving the passerby off the sidewalk, yet contained by fence.

 Clearly property! Whose property could it dare be, this wicked wicked woods that actually does open into a gate with some semblance of rooftop flashing behind it as we walk. In the evening as I pass, there is a distant light or two. Clearly someone who has raised a barricade of boughs against the how of the pretty in this town, one at war with the pretty in ugly ugly ways.