Her jacket pockets | Turned inside out | Releasing fears of the color blue

Today’s letter to a stranger was deposited in a newspaper box near the police station while Iris and I were on walkies. Check out what I found under the Cambie Street bridge:

A Flickr contact posted a picture of this same poet’s work in situ under the Granville Street bridge. Of course, do you think I can find that photo now that I want to link to it. If I find it, I’ll add the link here.

I walked under the Burrard Bridge on my way to the dog beach this weekend and didn’t see any underwords there. I was a little disappointed. It’s pretty dismal under that bridge and could use beautifying with literature, although it is somewhat less dismal since the city took away all the old mattresses and litter.

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