Sometimes I wonder what the world would look like if we lifted up the concrete. I mean, what if we ripped out all the roads, and the parking lots, and the driveways leading up to people’s houses? I keep imagining it, crumbling away like that, but I have a hard time imagining what would be underneath.
Say it’s gone; all the asphalt freshly cracked and peeled away by the hands of some great machine. What would be there? In those first few moments, it would likely be a mass of toiled, compacted mud, burnt gray by the lack of sunlight, but I kind of like the idea of there being grass. Not a whole field of it, or anything, but this weak, pale spritz somewhat like the hair on a baby’s head, or like seaweed as it’s exposed at low tide. I imagine it to be the shade and consistency of moonlight, both sickly and gentle. Maybe a few burr reeds in there; the kind that get stuck to your socks.
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