The leaves littered, and no one cared, not even the street sweepers who leaned on their brooms with vacant expressions.
The rope hung limply, draped over the rung of a ladder, relieved of its years holding flag to pole, awaiting its final fate.
The flag, hoisted aloft once again, sagged against the pole and the stiff, new rope and refused to move through the treacly wet air.
A small nematode chewed thoughtfully on a length of fiber, considering its options. It could continue eating the fiber, it could stop eating the fiber.
It kept eating the fiber. As did its sisters and brothers. The rope, severed, fell…
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