Outside the police station, two weeks ago, there was something.

On the little wall in front, near to the bus stop. It was, yuk, a pavement pizza. A little pile of sick.

A week later, it was a puddle of dried sick. Nobody from the police station came out and cleaned it away. It stayed and gradually aged, getting hard and brown and irritating in that way that things are that repel you in the same moment that it draws you to look at it.

Last week, it was still there one day. The next day it rained.

You might think that would get rid of it. But no, not quite.

I passed the police station and looked down. There it was, no longer hard and dry. The rain had rehydrated it. Yuk. It glowed in the rain.