The floral life that has taken root over the decades in the lot next door to me has recently had its inevitable fate as denizens of an urban landscape: what we euphamistically term “redevelopment” translates as certain death for the squatters of the world we like to call our own.
The floral life that has taken root over the decades in the lot next door to me has recently had its inevitable fate as denizens of an urban landscape: what we euphamistically term “redevelopment” translates as certain death for the squatters of the world we like to call our own.