it's america, kid, you make your money or/and you die. 

lulu plopped down in a mud wallow in the middle of the midway. i already was making mounds of dead grass on the parapet and albeit late i made a mount analogue on top of the mud wallow. it occurred to me the park district might cite me for this—they threaten a 500 dollar fine for cutting flowers that they mow themselves, so who knows, their ways are inscrutable. they leave mounds everywhere rotting and making methane in the sultry heat and killing the grass beneath. it is to be expected and not that inscrutable i guess in light of the fact that they turn public park into private enterprise.