Uh, well, it’s all still there…mostly. Yesterday some little punk stomped all over the really fragile flowers. Purposefully, with malice. What a hell his life must be. So about 30 seconds after I noticed the crushed flowers, I yelled at another kid who stooped down trying to touch the flowers. He came up to me babbling in kid-nonsense-speak about talking to somebody “down there” and I snapped “you can talk to somebody down there without touching my shit over here.” I immediately regretted saying it. But then his mother walked past and starting flipping out about saying that word to a child, blah blah blah, and she said “fuck” about 19 times. When I pointed this out to her, she screeched (already halfway down the block) “IT DOESN’T MATTAH, I’M THE MOTHAH!” Sound logic there, I guess.

Today, I came home from coffee with a friend to find two plants missing — yanked out of the bare earth, roots still stuck in the ground. You’d think the kind of person who steals flowers right out of someone else’s dirt wouldn’t care about flowers to begin with. Well, I swore I’d win, so I’ll just replant something else. And pick up the trash that has collected inside the planter again. 95% of the people who walk by admire the flowers, especially as they get bigger and grow in number as the days go by. So for them, I will persevere.

Fuck the vandals and thieves. They’ll be gone within the year anyhow.