|May 1, 05||May 3, 05||Lola (f) & Pale Male - May 5, 05|
|Pale Male yawning - May 5, 05||Pale Male & Lola kiss - May 7, 05||Pale Male carries twig - May 8, 05|
|Lola preening - May 9, 05||Blue Tails In Love - May 9, 05||Lola May 11, 05|
|Nest - May 11, 05||Pale Male - May 12, 05||Pale Male and Stone Faces - May 13, 05|
|Pale Male - May 13, 05||Pale Male May 13, 05||Lola & Carlyle - May 14, 05|
|Lola looking down - March 16, 05||Lola afro - May 16, 05||No Name|
A pristine street corner. Not a small creature alive. Everything spotless, garden green, no ants, no worms, no bees. No dust. Brass poles not even tarnished—polished perfect, made to glitter. Not even a virus alive—many doctors in residence. Mary gone—only echoes on 8th. Innocence on 3rd outnumbered. The creatures retreat—nothing to eat—no shelter available—building goes up in value. Clean, neat, tidy, uncontaminated. Sterile!
Across the Pond—emptiness, disappointment, lost hope, faded smiles, cheerlessness. Somber! For us, no remorse—no change of heart—no ‘we’re sorry!’ Nine hundred twenty-seven must be a very small number indeed.