Button-down blue jeans with frayed cuffs laid on the pavement haphazardly as though someone had just taken them off. Their casualness took on a strange beauty. They didn't seem to be belong to anyone anymore, yet they were the perfect pair of jeans. I could have owned them. They looked worn and comfortable. I thought to myself, "Who just took off these jeans?" I could still sense the body that wore them. The previous owner's height and proportions were revealed in their size and cut. They were lovely.

No matter what language the message was written in, the danger of cancer from smoking came through on the used cigarette package. Walking around the neighborhood, I was struck by the amount of cigarette buds that littered the pavement. Like grafitti artists, smokers left their marks everywhere they lit up.