They show up like brown, cubist versions of the chalk outline on the sidewalk, a spot where a person fell to earth. It's daytime, so no one's sleeping on them, but they're becoming more ubiquitous in our neighborhood - boxes flattened out and lined up, maybe a blanket balled up at one end for a pillow, always fast food containers.
The dog walks up to one to sniff them, but she won't step directly on them, even when I tug gently on her leash. It's like she knows that something happened here, and she's loathe to disturb the scene.
One year ago: Subjective
Two years ago: The Problem of Education
Three years ago: Existential
Four years ago: Further Encounters with the "Showtime!" Kids