she looks across that great expanse like a stony plateau all strewn with garbage there is garbage everywhere this could be the ruin of the world this could be the end of man all that remains of him is his garbage his crumpled papers his twisted wrappers his words warped and torn and fluttering in the wind beneath the call of gulls keening absent any answering white noise rumble of tireless ocean waves someday all this will be swept off carried away on some rising water everything will be made clean again and what will crawl up out of the damp ?