Under Erasure

Out of all the crap the rain dredged up, the Primitive surprised me today some mini-structures made mostly from lost WaterFire logs. The city keeps this wood hidden in the alcoves that line the watery underbelly of the city. The recent rain set them free from their cords, so that you could find flotillas of cut wood in the dead ends of the Woonasquatucket. Probably there are a few that have beat it out to the sea. Nevertheless, the structures the Primitive composed of them were very simple and some were even precarious, so I made sure to rush back with my camera in case the wind blew some over before I got there.
But it was not the wind that ended up the problem. By the time I got back, the lunch bourgeoisie had erased all signs of the Primitive. I brought Roxy along and it was truly a Snuffleupagus moment. Now, imagine the scene (or look at the last entry if your imagination is strained): there is literally a carpet of garbage on the river walk that still hasn't been cleaned up since the rains, and overflowing garbage cans as per usual. Yet, these self-appointed custodians of the city choose to remove something significant and whimsical. What is wrong with you people?
So I do what any self-respecting documentarian would do. I find the remnants of the most interesting sculpture, thrown here and there in the bushes, and reconstruct it as best as I can from memory.

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