They're chopping down trees with a vengeance outside my window. The chipping machine runs with a Fargo-esque sound that makes my ears water.
When I look outside my sliver of glass in the winter, my view is spindly leafless, lifeless trees, a railroad track and the rusting metal walls of seldom-used warehouses. In the spring and summer, the trees explode with green, heavy with leaves and huge vines of poison ivy.
Cardboard boxes, strips of metal and and the occasional dirty sock crop up along the tree line; remnants of the tiny homeless camp that comes with the spring.
Here's the irony, Alanis Morrisette. They're chopping out these trees to "get rid of the homeless camp." Or so says the family support worker from down the hall. You see, the agency in this building, the one who presumably doesn't much care for the homeless camp, is a social services corporation. One of the services provided inside the building is a low income housing program.
I wonder if anyone from inside this building went outside to tell those folks about that housing program before the chain saws started buzzing.