This rubble was a building. That building was my life. Perfectly fine, adequate enough to make the best of the current circumstances. Eventually it came down to the day to day and then one day faith in that survival was not enough for the world, the block. Morning comes through the Turnpike horizons where cars and trucks head elsewhere in America. They’re going anywhere and everywhere that is not here. The implosion had a cause beyond the wrecking ball – greed masquerading as progress. Now just shards and jagged hunks, still and useless in the sun waiting for the dump trucks to come. Even memories of what this was no longer exist.