You wanted some writings, well here you go.

The lawn over on the other side of the railroad tracks is wet, yet still on fire. How the fuck is that possible. It’s like the neighbors are watering hell. Just to make it grow? Not the best plan I’ve ever heard of, but hey it’s their property, right? The fucking flamingo, though, is melting and that kind of hurts me a little because I enjoyed that little piece of art on my way to and fro. Now, I know what you will all say…A flamingo, that isn’t art! I beg to differ but let’s not split hairs here regarding the wonderful world of lawn sculpture and design. Where was I? Oh yeah, so the lawn is on fire, it’s being watered, melting flamingo…right then, I think now I must point out that this lawn that is on fire is roughly the size of a corn field. I mean, we’re talking estate grass here, a big mother-shutyomouth, and that means a lot to water and a lot to burn. Disturbing is the fact that the city water department sends out a truck every day in an effort to convince them that they should not be watering burning grass. They just don’t seem to get it.