The park, once resplendent in the town’s heyday was a scrub of moss and weeds. The down and outs jostled each other for a spot on a rusting metal bench, anything to get off the sodden spring ground. Used needles lay amidst the shabby greenery, invisible and able to pierce the common light-weight shoes the children wear. There is a movement to reclaim it amongst the town’s elite, replant the flowers and clear the garbage from the ponds. Maybe it will happen one day, it would be so nice, but for now the rest of us are too busy working three part time jobs to make a full time wage. So we just skirt around it whatever the time of day, no shortcuts, no way, not ever.
the place to be