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“Look at these. ‘Lost dog'. ‘Motorcycle for sale'. ‘Room for rent'. Dozens of them.” Stephen angrily brandished the ads and notices that he had torn from the utility poles on our block in my face.

 

“Every day I take them down. It’s hopeless. I used to try to keep the stretch from Midvale Road to River Street clear, but every week there are more and more of them. Now I just concentrate on this block. I go out every morning and take them down. I might as well do nothing. Within a couple of hours there are more of them.

 

“Why do people do this? I don’t understand. I’ve written to the council, but they’re useless. Come election time, their campaign posters are the worst. And it’s not just outsiders. It’s people who live in this neighbourhood. You’d think they’d want to keep it clean. But no, they have to foul their own nest. What is wrong with people?”

 

Just then he spotted a man taping a piece of bright red paper to a light post down the street. He ran towards him screaming, “What do you think you’re doing? You can’t do that.”

 


 

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