There's stains on my curtains from where they touch the A/C unit, because the A/C is pulling in all the black soot that sits in the air. It's moments like these that I remember how disgusting the air is. It's raining, the soot is being pushed to the ground into black puddles and flowing black rivers on the sides of the streets.
The dirt is getting to me lately. It happens now and then - my romance for the city dies and I see it as it is: a literal concrete jungle, expensive overcrowded filth. Maybe it's because I'm dog sitting - it's weird to see dogs piss on garbage, not grass. When he finds trees he plays in them and rubs his face against the leaves and I see myself in him - desperate for some nature, some oxygen.
If there's one thing about Nature, I've noticed, it's persistent - obsessed with life, with growth, with progress. Even here, tree roots crack the concrete, weeds grow through the sidewalk panes, vines coat the sides of buildings. My downstairs neighbor built a garden and I thank him every day for it. He tends it to it tenderly. He gave me a speckled pink orchid. I bought some plants for my bedroom, but they barely get enough sun. I've been craving California - that coastline, those year-round farmer's markets...