Thorn in the garden

Those of you who familiar with Prospect Park know that after a summer weekend the place looks like hell. It’s definitely not a “carry in-carry out” place. The resulting garbage is mountainous. Two weekends ago, you’ll remember, it was unusually hot, so the park was very well-used. When I got into the park on it’s southwest side that Monday morning, I passed picnic tables full of the remains of a meal. Plural tables, plural remains, so many, in fact, that there was still a metal bowl with serving utensil set out. It was like a neutron bomb had gone off in the middle of the meal, vaporizing the humans but leaving everything else to the rats and raccoons. There were even two grills, the globe-shaped ones on tripods. They left their ’que gear? Had Prospecta, the elusive lake monster, hungrily risen out of the water and eaten these despoilers, ripping off their heads like Godzilla? A woman with a toy dog was taking cell phone pics of the ruins, complaining how she, as a dog person, was persecuted by the leash law, while shit like this was allowed to stand.