(as tree-hugging as I can muster)

What's a May Friday, without visiting the zoo? It was a day without you... It was a long drive in the afternoon, it was over and through to scarborough, ghostly old finch rd; it was a narrow roadway underpass in thawed and gaping dumping grounds, where rubbish sits, gathers and makes chaos of our birthright. And despite the hollering army of trees—annual over-the-top charges into budding green defiance—it was a sermon half-listened-to. And despite obscene moments of occasional piety, they'll gasp still, come June, trees in full flower, startling regenerative gasping power, gasping in their final hour. 'Cause they’re gassed too, in the rushing zoom, around and through, by Oxy-3 and SO-2, gassed by me and gassed by you--passing gas we pass the zoo. Ok, we say, boo hoo, but what’s a car to do? (It does—we say it does—it does what it will do...)

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