I'm hiding in my house because my street has become a war zone. I'm trying to protect my home and my animals. From?
From your freedom. From your celebration of waste and pollution; from your right to disregard everything but your own destructive, disruptive tribute to what is supposed to be freedom for all.
My windows and blinds are shut tight, my doors are closed and locked. Outside my window, your ugly garbage is strewn everywhere along the public street we share. The nice little breeze that I wish I could let into my house on this summer evening is now thick, grey, foul smelling and unbreathable. Sickening. The noise is deafening and damaging. Small birds and animals will die while you lay waste to enough money to feed a hungry child for a year or more.
Tomorrow I won't be able to breathe the air outside without choking and every surface for blocks will be coated with the toxic remains of your glorious celebration of freedom.
For all.
Right.
So what exactly happened to my freedom?
.
.
