In the absence of green, I am filled by one-block notations on scattered spaces and narrow stairwells. The concrete stings the sky while the clips below and criss-crossed highways above house the scent of Krispie Kremes. Then we are exposed- me in my uncertainty and everything else in its armour. From traffic caught like a spider's bedtime treat to casual chatter flung between thick accents and theives, we are all involved in linear interpretations.