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I like to see plastic bags being tossed out from a high rised flat on a windy day. No, don't get me wrong, I don't do it myself for that would have spoilt the whole notion of it. I just like to see it out of the blue... I wonder if you'd have seen it before? Pale red ones, white ones with small red prints and sometimes some rare assorted ones. Seeing it being cradled by the wind, self juxtaposing itself as it comes alive... I would look at it transfixed and see where it's going, how it danced, how chance took place. My gaze would meander with its line of descend and at times, ascend. And sometimes, it's almost like impish winds toying on a sunny afternoon... funny how it always happens on a sunny afternoon. Then it would have made me thought I saw the wind took shape.
I cannot explain why, I just get mesmerized. I would have wondered where it came from, who would have tossed it, from which floor and would it have perhaps fell on its own? A liberating flight to death, suicide... Did it escape from some captivity or had the wind kidnapped it while it's being sunbathed to dry? My mind would wonder as it continued its extended plunge... Then I would think if it's sort of like the "passing on" of plastic bags. They would have talked about it to one another, "you'll get filled with rubbish and thrown down the black hole if you are bad, and if you had been good, you will exit the bright suspended doorway and fly away..." hmmm, something like that. They would tell each other with an ominous tone followed by an envious gaze at the windows. They would fantasize about flights and wonder if it would have been possible...
At least, in their life time, they did something we wouldn't have been able to do. Plastic bags... charming fellows.
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