The recycling truck lifts the bins with a series of beeps, and dumps them into resounding clatter – without worrying that the neighbours will complain.

I stand on the balcony, admiring the lack of tentativeness. I want to shout “ciao! grazie!” At the orange- clad man operating the sonic pollution, But also don’t want to wake the neighbours.

There is a big tree which the building was maybe built around, it’s the only significant plant-life I can see beyond basil in windowsills.

Everything is design, our entire built environment – the infrastructure in which we live. I think about Kristen being a city planner, and what trees she may have to avoid or plant for our environments. I think about how I am loved unconditionally, and how happy I am to exist.

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