Trees and stuff are outside everyday, and they are usually beautiful. It all deserve a page or two. The problem is I only see the forest. But I see each lumberjack’s jacket and the bridges and the roads. But the concretes only see the forest; they too cannot see a shrub. I was sitting on the bridge, and I saw a school of fish and a school of thought. I distinguished a couple thoughts but could not discern a fish, although I knew the school was there. There was a sea of scales, and I decided that I didn’t want to go swimming that day. But the other swimmers headed to the pool, and bought packs of bubblegum after practice. All the pieces went into all of their mouths together. After their jaws got tired, their moms arrived, and it would have been strange chewing bubblegum in the car anyway.