"I saw traffic function in it's intended rhythm this morning and then a woman in red stockings. The green light came with a rush of cars and all had passed by the time the light again blinked into red. In that moment all stood still, the oncoming traffic held at bay by the previous light and as I finished crossing they came in to fill the empty space I had left behind. We all have empty spaces to fill and form does not always obey function. Tree-trimmers in this city lop off the tops and leave branches to recreate themselves; they thus shoot straight up, in a visual panic, and freak-out as perhaps only trees can. The result is screeching fingers on the chalkboard, frantic brakes on wet pavement. And so many lives running around here below. How do we organize ourselves?"