Click: images that capture the imagination.

The steps of the Old City Hall. Two hundred breaths blowing into two hundred plastic wands and two hundred bubbles floating up, up, into the sky, reflecting two hundred faces.

I overheard two perfect specimens of 2006 Suburban Commuter Man talking in a downtown coffee shop.

James Tree. Tree tree tree.

David Lawn?

James Lawn, insects.

David Expensive?

James Don’t care! Tree, tree, trim! Cat…

David Rabbits?

James Just one neighbour! Lawn, cat…

David Birds, birds?

James LAWN! Rat bait, cat, neighbours.

I mean, maybe they were a little more specific with a few more words and a bit more detail, but I can’t be bothered to write it all down. It was kind of sad, actually. Of course we’ve all heard 2006 Suburban Commuter Man having the Tree Lawn conversation at BBQs and birthday parties, but I suppose I’d hoped they really did have some kind of secret life when outside the hearing range of the 2006 Suburban Wife.

James Friedrich Nietzsche. God, dead.

David Kierkegaard.

James Nietzsche, Nietzsche, Nietzsche!

David Kierkegaard!

James Nietzsche!

David Life, meaningless.

James, sighing …lawn.

David Tree.