Wednesday

Potato sacks filled with green beets sit on the dirt curb of a dirt road.

The road shouldn’t consist of just dirt. Perhaps it doesn’t, perhaps it’s just dirty. It’s in the middle of a middleclass suburb.

Watch Mary Soccermom drive along it to drop her retarded child off at special school. She doesn’t stop to notice the sacks of beets. No one does.

No one is willing to sacrifice their soccermom lives and see the beets. Or notice that only this one section of road, in between Fifth and Sixth Streets, is roiling in filth.

But the beets notice.