Where are the people? The children? Out here on Long Island it is a manicured wilderness, drunk on roundup. Beware the human on the street. He is dangerous to the automobile. He simply wishes to look at the plants. He will force you to slow down, apply the brakes. He will force you to be attentive, force you to observe the slow paced gait of a walker, a rare bird in these parts, in these burbs. Isn’t it odd that humans afoot are as if in a zoo, almost pitied by petroleum guzzlers on four wheels. Where are we here? Why do we persist in our boxes with our senses engulfed in two-dimensional madness? In what are we in relationship? Beware the raccoon on the back lawn. He is rabid (for life). All raccoons are rabid. Beware.